


The Mini Spark and the Avengers

by a_dale



Category: Teen Wolf (TV), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Clint Barton and Bucky Barnes co-parent, De-Aged Stiles Stilinski, Deaf Clint Barton, Hurt Stiles, Implied Violence, Injured Characters, Multi, Protective Bucky, Protective Clint, Spark Stiles Stilinski, Tiny bit of Angst, avengers taking care of a small one, domestic-y fluff, eventual Clint/Bucky, eventual Clint/Bucky/Stiles, protective avengers lets be honest, when Stiles is re-aged
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-18
Updated: 2017-07-14
Packaged: 2018-11-15 11:27:35
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 24,269
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11229990
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/a_dale/pseuds/a_dale
Summary: Clint Barton finds one de-aged Stiles Stilinski being held captive and brings him back to protect him at the Avengers tower. Turns out, Clint is a pretty good caregiver, Bucky Barnes is great with kids, and they both have a protective streak a mile wide.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So I know it says de-aged and then Bucky/Clint/Stiles but don't worry folks that's not till he's re-aged, promise.   
> also, I kinda jump around a bit. some of the stuff is just super brief but I just needed to get it all out and on paper and out of my head.  
> as always, I do not own either the avengers or teen wolf and everything is self-edited so all mistakes are my own.   
> hope you enjoy!

 

  "Son of a bitch." Clint snarled, spinning around the corner to let off a few arrows before ducking for cover again. He was pinned and he was on his own. He cursed his own stupidity again. This was supposed to have been a simple intel mission. Go in, get the intel, get out. But oh no, of course not. It could never be that simple. He spun back around, the next arrow explosive and he ducked down, covering his ears. As soon as the arrow went off he looked around for anything he could use to his advantage. He saw a bunch of boxes piled high against the far wall but they don't hide the seam of a door from his eyes and he moved quickly, tossing the boxes away. The door was locked but he shot the lock off, moving into the room as quickly as he could, closing the door behind him. He took the moment to look around then and found himself closing his hands in tight fists to control the anger he felt rush through him. He was in front of a cell, and in the cell a little boy was curled up, eyes fixed on Clint. The eyes were nearly luminescent and Clint wouldn't be surprised if this kid turned out to be some sort of enhanced. The cell was closed with a standard lock and Clint was glad. He had a thing for this. He was in motion again, pulling the head off an arrow, jamming it in the lock.

  "Cover your ears, kid." Clint ordered and the boy did as he was told even as Clint did the same, setting the mini explosion off. The door swung open and without even a though Clint beckoned the kid forward. "Come on. We're getting out of here." The boy didn't even hesitate but Clint knew better than to think it was because he trusted Clint. He'd obviously been tortured; the bruises were obvious as were the restraint marks on his wrists and ankles. The kid was probably 5 or 6, but while he was fairly tall for his age, he was all skin and bones made all the more clear by the fact that he was dressed in tattered clothes quite a few sizes too large for him.

Clint looked around and spotted the air vent this time. "Come on. There's our way out." And the boy didn't argue, allowing Clint to help him into the vent even before he followed himself. It took quite a few twists and turns before Clint stopped hearing people outside the vents and called for the boy to stop, letting them out into a room Clint remembered seeing when he'd broken in. They were almost out.

 

>>>

 

They arrived at the safe house and Clint finally let himself take stock of the kid in front of him. They hadn't spoken, both concentrating on getting out of there, but now that they were free, they both had a chance to observe the person they were with. 

  "My name's Clint." Clint introduced first, and the boy blinked in acknowledgement. "What's your name?" The boy just stared at him, for long enough that Clint feared he wouldn't answer, but when he started packing up his bow, the boy spoke.

  "Stiles." Clint made a noise of acknowledgement before turning to regard the kid. He could see a handful of injuries already and glanced at the watch attached to his vest. Still had an hour before he needed to make contact. 

  "I have extra clothes if you want to change. And a medical kit. I have fairly decent field medical training if you let me look at your injuries." Stiles just stared at him another moment, and Clint felt as if the boy could actually see into his soul. Even as he had the thought the boy actually seemed to relax and nodded.

  "Yes please." Clint was moving immediately, grabbing his kit and one of his extra t-shirts to start. When he had a better idea of the kids size he'd cover pants. He crouched in front of where the kid sat on the edge of the bed and gave what he hoped was a comforting smile. 

  "Alright. Tell me what hurts." Stiles just shrugged.

  "Everything I guess." Clint nodded, he knew the feeling.

  "Okay lets start with the big stuff. Can you breathe okay?" That had Stiles taking a breath in test, frown of concentration on his face. And then he nodded. 

  "yeah." That was a good sign, it meant his ribs were probably okay. 

  "Alright what about your head. How's that feel?" 

  "It hurts on the inside - like a drum beating." And that was a headache, he could deal with that. 

  "Alright what about your joints - shoulders, wrists, knees, elbows, ankles?" That had Stiles nodded.

  "My left shoulder hurts a lot." 

  "Can you lift it above your head." That had Stiles shaking his head. And that was a good place to start. "Can you lift it enough to take the shirt off?" After a pause Stiles shook his head again and Clint dismissed the thought of his T-shirt. He knew he had at least one button up around and he was pretty sure it was a thick cotton plaid too. "Alright, I'm going to cut this shirt off you, okay? So I can see your shoulder. I'll get you a new shirt as soon as I'm done." Stiles nodded, seeming content to let Clint play doctor, and so Clint pulled out the scissors, carefully cutting the shirts away. What he saw was worse than he expected and he couldn't help the curse that passed his lips. He could hardly see any unbruised skin, and the shoulder the boy had casually said hurt was swollen enough to tell Clint that it was dislocated and probably had been for a while. 

  "It's okay." Stiles murmured, and Clint met the kids eyes, a rage in his own.

  "No it's not." Clint snapped out. "This is never okay." Then he moved, gentle fingers skimming over Stiles' shoulder, and though the boy flinched initially he stayed in place after that. "I've got a cream for the bruises. But the shoulder I'm going to have to set. If I leave it any longer it will cause more permanent damage."

  "It's okay. You can do it now."

  "Stiles-" he just looked up and  gave Clint an encouraging smile and Clint felt as if it should be the other way around but he decided it wasn't worth arguing over. "Okay, I'm going to push it back in and then I'm going to get some ice on it. Then I'll get the bruise cream." Stiles nodded finding that all perfectly logical and Clint felt himself wincing. "On 3?" He got another nod though Stiles was looking away from him now, uninjured hand clenched in a fist. Clint didn't hesitate then. "1, 2, 3." With practiced ease he pushed the shoulder back into place and heard Stiles' quiet whimper of pain. Though he wanted to apologize he moved quickly instead, getting the ice pack kept for this very kind of thing and wrapped it in the T-shirt he'd been going to give the boy. "Okay, here we go." That's when he saw the tears on the boy's face, and wow did that ever make him feel like the shittiest person alive.

  "It's okay. I knew it would hurt." Stiles comforted, obviously having noticed his guilt, but Clint shrugged, gently placing the pack against Stiles' shoulder. He winced again but didn't move. The more he looked at the bruises and the longer the cold seeped into his hand, the angrier he got, and so he channeled his focus into questions.

  "Why were they doing this to you?" He asked, and with his good hand, Stiles wiped away as many of the tears as he could despite the fact that he was still sniffling, tears still sliding over pale, mole dotted skin.

  "They thought I had magic." That threw Clint for a loop.

  "Do you?" Even as he asked the question he found himself backtracking. "Nope. Never mind. Forget I asked. How long did they have you in that cell?" Stiles actually looked _amused_ by the backtracking, but as soon as he tried to remember how long he'd been there, he began to grow anxious. 

  "I - I don't remember. I don't know how I got there. One day I wasn't, and then I was." Clint could see the kid was getting worked up so he put his free hand on the boy's uninjured shoulder.

  "Hey, it's okay. We'll figure it out. How about another question. How old are you?"

  "5 and a half." Then he was pausing and so Clint waited, could see Stiles had his own questions now that he was thinking beyond their escape and his injuries, and Clint wanted him to ask them.

  "Why were you there? When you found me?" 

  "The people who had you were bad people. I was there to get information to take them down." 

  "Did you get it?" Now it was Clint's turn to nod. "But then what?"

  "Now I wait until check in and then I call my handler, who's like my supervisor," he clarified at Stiles' confused frown, "and then he tells me how to get out of this place so I can go home." The rest of the questions he'd been able to see all disappeared behind disappointment and Clint had no idea where it had come from. 

  "What about me?" Stiles finally asked, and there were fresh tears in the whiskey coloured eyes, but these ones were scared and lonely. 

  "I'll figure out where they took you from and then I'll get you home too." That had the tears spilling over again.

  "They said mom and dad were dead." The boy curled in on himself despite the bruises and Clint reacted before he could reconsider, pulling the boy in against his chest, being as careful as he could. Rather than push away though the boy just cuddled right into Clint's heat, crying himself out. Then with his good hand once again he wiped the tears away.

  "We'll figure it out, Stiles. And I'll stay with you until we do." That had Stiles finally pulling back to offer a watery smile.

  "Okay." The smile gave Clint an ache in his chest so he stood, getting the bruise cream, glancing at his watch again. It was about time. 

  "Alright, I'm going to show you how to do it and then you continue okay? I have to call my handler." Stiles nodded wiping the last of the tears away for now. "And it's okay to take the ice off for a minute. It's better that way.” Stiles just set the ice pack down and Clint tossed it back in the freezer before turning back to Stiles. He quickly showed him how to heat up the cream with his hands to then smooth it on gently, and Stiles was quickly copying the motions, allowing Clint to get up and pull the phone out of his stuff. Coulson answered on the second ring.

  "Coulson."

  "Coulson, I need an out for an extra person." There was a moment of silence before Coulson gave a sigh and Clint could all but see him rubbing at the frown on his forehead in his minds eye.

  "What happened?"

  "They knew I was there. I got in, got the intel, and then got cornered. Ended up finding a cell. There was a kid in it, Coulson. And they'd been torturing him." Clint knew it was a sign of how close they'd grown that Coulson didn't even question him. 

“Is he in travelling condition?”

“I think I've dealt with the worst of it, but we'll need to get him to someone with real medical training.” There was a pause as Clint assumed Coulson moved to make the arrangement. 

“Get to the extraction point. I'm sending a quinjet.” 

“Got it, boss.” Coulson hung up then and Clint turned back to see Stiles watching him with his big doe eyes. 

“Think you can make it a bit farther?” Clint asked, and Stiles nodded. “Okay, we're going to go meet with the people who are supposed to get us out of here.” Stiles nodded again, carefully sliding off the bed, and Clint winced in sympathy as the kid's shoulder moved. He pulled the painkillers out of the med kit, shaking one into his palm, pouring a glass of water and offering both to Stiles. “Here, this should take the edge off.” the boy accepted both and as he took the pill, Clint rifled through his pack, finding the shirt he'd been looking for. It would be way too big for the boy, but at least it would be soft and warm. He lifted it for the boy's approval and actually gained a smile. 

“It's so soft.” Stiles marvelled as soon as it was buttoned up, and Clint just returned the smile. 

“Just the way I like it.” with quick efficient movements, he packed up all his things, swinging his pack onto his shoulder. He checked his gun, Stiles' eyes fixed on him as he did so, and slid it away when he saw it had a full clip. “Ready?” Stiles nodded again but surprised Clint by taking his hand, obviously nervous. Clint just gave a gentle squeeze of comfort. “Let's go.”

 


	2. Chapter 2

Luck just wasn't on their side, Clint thought viciously even as he took aim and took out two more of the men that had caught up and cut them off from the extraction point. Stiles was curled up on the ground beside him, eyes squeezed shut and hands pressed over his ears, and Clint felt for the kid. He felt it before he saw them – felt the difference when the hostiles were no longer just aiming at him. He ducked up for a second, letting off another shot but even as he did he saw what was going on – the extraction team was here. He crouched down in front of Stiles then, tapping him gently on the knee. The boy opened his eyes and Clint offered him a smile. 

“Back up's here.” But even as he said it, Stiles' eyes were looking over his shoulder, eyes widening in fear. Clint moved instantly, and even as the hostile brought his gun up to shoot Clint was hitting the wrist wide with the flat of his hand, bringing himself in to grab the wrist, keeping it wide of the boy and forcing the gun from the man's hand. Then he spun back with his elbow, connecting with the man's head. The man didn't even have the chance to react before Clint was changing his grip to flip the man over, gun in his hand as he held him there on the ground, gun pointed at the man's head. It was then he realized that Stiles was staring at him with wide eyes and he shifted his grip on the gun, bringing it down to knock the man out.

“Barton – status.” he heard Coulson's voice call from where the rest of the hostiles had been moments before and Clint couldn't help his smirk. Trust Coulson to oversee this one personally. 

“All good over here, boss.” he called, but he stayed crouched in front of Stiles, sliding his gun away. “You all good?” Stiles nodded, accepting the hand up Clint offered him, and Clint grabbed his pack again, moving so that Coulson could see him. At the sight of him, Coulson made towards them and as soon as he was close, Clint guided Stiles out from where he'd been hiding.

“Sir, this is Stiles. Stiles, this is my boss, Phil Coulson.” 

  "Hello," Stiles offered timidly, casting furtive glances at Clint, and Coulson watched as his top assassin returned the looks with a calming smile. Though outwardly he didn't react, Coulson sighed internally. This was definitely going to be complicated. 

"It's a pleasure to meet you." Coulson replied, and it earned him a small smile from both child and archer. Oh this was definitely going to be complicated. "We need to move. The quinjet is waiting." At Clint's raised brow, Coulson gave a slight smile. "Romanov's flying." That had Clint grinning. Natasha had been annoyed that Clint was being sent on a mission without her and he was sure she'd been displeased to hear there had been trouble.

  "You'll like Natasha." Clint told Stiles easily, and Coulson didn't miss how Clint had the boy's hand held firmly in his own, carefully guiding him forward. 

  "What's going to happen when we get back?" Coulson kept walking ahead of them despite having heard the question, and despite feeling Clint's eyes on him, he ignored them as the archer answered. 

  "Like I said, Stiles. I'm going to stay with you until we figure it out." Now he realized Clint's stare was probably a challenging one, but Coulson wasn't going to challenge this. 

 

>>>

 

Natasha turned at the sound of Clint's voice and despite having known there would be a child with him she couldn't help her surprise when she saw the boy dressed in Clint's favourite shirt, his tiny hand held in Clint's, her best friend talking amiable to the boy as he helped him along, and there was a softness to him she wasn't used to seeing aimed at anyone outside of their little team. He looked up when they got close and she found herself on the receiving end of one of his grins, the ones that said look what I found can I keep it, and she couldn't help her smile. It only had his grin widening and she found him directing the boy's attention to her.

  "See that woman? That's Natasha."

  "Her hair is like fire." Stiles replied in awe, and Clint laughed. 

  "Yeah, it is." Then the boy looked up at Clint nervously and as children did, his whisper carried to her easily.

  "What if she doesn't like me?" Clint just gave the boy the softest smile she'd ever seen. 

  "Nat may look scary but on the inside she's a huge softy. She'll like you." 

  "She doesn't look scary on the outside." Stiles countered, "She looks nice."

  "Then you have nothing to worry about." The terrible logic had the boy smiling, but he didn't argue because they'd reached the jet. 

  "Nat, I'd like you to meet Stiles. Stiles, this is my partner, Natasha."

  "Partner - like love?'

  "Sure I love her," Clint said easily, "But not like you're thinking. I love her like family." It had Stiles nodding sagely before he looked at Natasha, tentative smile blooming.

  "Hello,"

  "Hi there, I hear you're coming back with us." Stiles glanced up at Clint but Clint was still smiling and so he looked back to Natasha, nodding. 

  "I think so."

  "Have you ever flown in a jet like this before?" She asked, and Stiles shook his head. "Come on then, you won't want to miss this." Stiles' smile grew more comfortable and he nodded, walking slightly ahead of Clint now though he kept his hand firmly in the archer's.

 

>>>

 

Natasha could understand why Clint had grown so attached so quickly. The boy had the biggest eyes that seemed to stare right into your soul and see the truth about your character with a single glance and he was brave - braver than any other child would have been in his situation. And as he got comfortable with them his cleverness peaked out - in how he reacted to their own conversations and in how his quick fingers mimicked motions they all did with their own with a curiosity that clearly held no bounds. He asked question after question until he received an answer that made sense to him, and it often went beyond what they'd expected him to understand. At one point Natasha had spoken and Stiles' gaze had zeroed in on her.

  "Do you speak Russian?" He asked, and they'd all blinked in surprise before she'd nodded. 

  "I do. How did you know?"

  "My mom -" his eyes clouded but he continued. "She used to speak polish. She said words like you do sometimes." 

  "Do you speak polish?"

  "Only a little, I wanted to learn, but-" he shrugged, looking away, and when his gaze wasn't on them, Clint lifted his hands to sign. 

  " _They told him his parents are dead._ " Clint clarified, be neither could respond because Stiles had looked back up, a new question already in mind.

  "Where are we going?" The adults all exchanged a look before Clint answered.

  "New York."

 

>>>

 

  "Stiles in medical?" Natasha asked, surprised to see Clint without the boy, and Clint scowled. 

  "They kicked me out and Stiles said he'd be fine." The words clearly left a sour taste in the archer's mouth and Natasha couldn't help the foreboding feeling it gave her. Children shouldn't be used to such fear - such pain. She knew better than most what such an environment did to a child. 

  "Being fine isn't the same as being okay." Natasha reminded him, and Clint looked at a loss. "Let's go check on him."

 

Clint had barely even glanced through the window before he was cursing, bursting into the room and knocking the doctor with the syringe away before his gun was back in hand and he was all but shaking with fury.

  "Let him go." He snapped. Stiles was staring at him in shock but there was relief there as well. Clint had come back to see two doctors holding Stiles still despite his struggles and his tears, and it infuriated him. 

  "Agent Barton-" one of the doctors began, but before he could finish his sentence Clint clicked off the safety, stilling as he met Stiles' gaze, who stared back, waiting.

  "I wouldn't argue with him, doctor." Natasha all but purred, and both doctors clearly hadn't noticed her because they released Stiles as if he'd burned them. 

"Get out." The three left immediately and without argument and Clint took a moment to put his gun away, moving closer to Stiles. "Are you okay?" Stiles nodded but he was still shaking and so Clint decided to sit on the bed next to him, lifting his arm to put around Stiles' shoulders. The boy responded by tucking himself into Clint's side, his knees coming up so he could curl up as small as he could, bare feet  tucking under Clint's thigh. "Why didn't you call for me to come back?" There was a beat of silence before Stiles answered.

  "They said no." Clint went still and that's when Natasha came forward, putting a hand on his knee. 

  "We're both going to stay with you now. Okay?" She asked, and Stiles looked up to give her a small smile of relief. 

  "Okay." The two adults exchanged a glance before Clint spoke up.

  "What were they trying to do?" 

  "They wanted to take my blood." Stiles admitted. "But I don't like needles. They hurt." Clint could only imagine where such a fear had come from and sighed. 

  "They probably need to make sure you're not sick or anything. That everything is clean and healthy." Stiles just shuddered and Clint looked at Natasha for back up and so she spoke up. Ever so gently, she put her hand on Stiles' knee as well, drawing his gaze. 

  "What if I told you we know someone who can make it so you barely feel the needle? And we'll stay with you the whole time?" Stiles just stared at her, biting his lip nervously. 

  "Barely?" She put her hand out and he put his in hers hesitantly. She gave his wrist a gentle pinch before running her fingers over the spot to soothe, and he blinked in surprise. 

  "Just like that." He gave a tiny disbelieving laugh, but he nodded. 

  "Okay." She stood straight then, lifting a brow at Clint, and he knew what she was asking. Were they going to ask for permission to take the boy? And Clint just shook his head. The doctors deserved trouble for this.

 


	3. Chapter 3

 

The first thing Tony noticed when he walked in the room was that there was a child clinging to Clint like he was holding on for dear life. The second thing he noticed was that the kid's eyes were literally everywhere, taking in everything from the safety of Clint's arms. Those eyes were far too wary for Tony's liking. No small child should look so wary of the world around them.

  "You're not part of the usual spy possy." Tony noted, and the boy actually grinned at him. 

  "You're Tony Stark. You make robot suits." He looked at Clint. "Can I see?" Before Clint could answer, Tony cut in. 

  "I'll make you a deal, kid. I'll show you the suit if you let me scan you with it." They stared at each other in solemn silence before the boy finally spoke.

  "Do I have to go inside the machine?" He asked, and Tony shook his head. 

  "Nope. Only one allowed inside the suit is me. You don't even have to touch it, though it is pretty cool so you're allowed to touch if you want." The boy thought it over, little brow scrunched in a frown. Then the  frown cleared and he nodded.

  "Okay. No touching." 

  "You got it kid." Tony grinned. "Jarvis." 

  "Right away, sir." When he didn't move Stiles frowned, but the moment he opened his mouth to ask, the pieces of the suit shot through the air, attaching themselves to each other and Stark. Nobody missed the awed gasp and Clint grinned at how wide the kid's eyes were. 

  "Put me down please." Stiles asked, and Clint obliged, though he followed as Stiles scurried over to Stark. "Wow." He said, circling the suit a couple of times, Tony turning ever so slightly to follow his progress. The faceplate came up and he smirked. 

  "Pretty cool, right?" Stiles nodded and then his face got pinched with anxiety. 

  "You can do the scan now." 

  "Already done, kid." Stiles looked up in surprise.

  "Really?" 

  "Yup." And Tony popped the p. "No touch. Just like I said."

  "But the other doctors-" he paused, and they all watched as he reflexively curled in on himself. "They wanted blood." Tony shrugged. 

  "Those doctors think they need everything. I don't need your blood unless you want to give it to me." 

  "Why?"

  "Well you see there should be all sorts of things in your blood like data on your immune system, age, DNA, diet. What else do we need to know?" Stiles looked back at Clint then back at Stark.

  "I don't remember how I got to where Clint found me."

  "Well if they gave you anything that affected your memory it would also be in your blood."

  "That's a lot." Stiles admitted, and Tony shrugged. 

  "I can figure it out either way. It would just be faster." 

  "I don't like needles."

  "Why?" The boy's whole body shuddered, and if that wasn't alarming enough, the boy rubbed at his neck. 

  "They hurt. And the big ones leave marks." With only a thought, Tony stepped out of the suit, hunkering down in front of the kid. 

  "Look. I'll make you a deal. You let me take some blood - two little bottles this big." He showed his pinky. "And I promise we won't let anyone else even come close to you with a needle. And hey my buddy Bruce and I use really small needles cause we don't like needles either. Clint neither. He runs away and hides in the ceiling." That got a giggle and a shy glance back at Clint who shrugged, unable to deny it.

  "Can I hide in the ceiling if I really don't like it?" 

  "Course, kiddo. As long as you hide with Clint. Deal?" Stiles nodded, sticking out his hand, and amused, Tony gave it a brief shake before standing and offering Stiles his hand again. 

  "Come on, everything's in my lab. You'll love it. There's robots everywhere, isn't that right, Jarvis."

  "It is correct that master Stark is incapable of keeping order and his prototypes cover every surface." Even as Stiles giggled, Bruce wandered his way into the lab only to find the four of them there, and he blinked in surprise. He hadn't known that there was a child here, and from the looks of him, a very injured child.

“Bruce! Perfect timing. I was just telling Stiles that we have all the best, smallest needles for taking blood cause he was worried.”

“Well, it only makes sense. After all, if we don't use the small ones, Clint ends up in the ceiling.” the words had Clint huffing out a breath but Tony just grinned. 

“See, told you.” Bruce wandered closer and couldn't help but wonder then if the boy had been brought here without S.H.I.E.L.D.'s permission but it just had him feeling fond. Only their team would keep bringing in strays, and he included himself in that category.

“You're lucky Tony is here. He has the steadiest hands.” Bruce said, though now he was taking stock of the boy, noticing the shoulder that was just healing, the purple bruises that disappeared under Clint's shirt that the boy was wearing. He watched as Tony carefully slid the needle under Stiles' skin, who didn't even really react except with a slight frown, and so Bruce drew his attention. 

“What's your favourite food?” he asked mildly, and Stiles looked away from the needle to look up at him.

“Spaghetti.” he said firmly, and Bruce nodded.

“Spaghetti is a good choice. You're in luck. The best spaghetti is made at a restaurant down the street. Are you hungry?” Stiles nodded, blinking in surprise even as Tony took the needle from his arm. 

“A little.” he was shifting on the bench towards Clint then, who obliged him by lifting his arm, letting the boy cuddle into his side. Bruce realized then that it must have been Clint who found him, wherever he'd been. 

“Jarvis, you heard him, he'd like some spaghetti. Make it the usual.”

“Right away sir.” Jarvis responded, and the disembodied voice had Stiles startling. “My apologies for startling you, Stiles. Allow me to introduce myself, I am Jarvis, Mr. Stark's Artificial Intelligence interface. If you require anything during your stay here, you need only ask.” they all watched Stiles' expression relax into awe as he grinned up at the ceiling.

“Thanks Jarvis!” they all watched as Stiles turned to Clint now, tugging him closer so he could whisper to the archer. Whatever the words were, Clint smirked and scooped Stiles into his arms and was off. The last thing the rest of them saw was the lightning grin that lit up the boys whole face.

 

It took a couple of hours for Clint and Stiles to reappear from the vents, and it was only because Stiles was practically falling asleep in Clint's arms. They appeared in the common room, where Natasha and Tony were discussing Stiles' condition while Bruce was in the lab testing the boy's blood.

“I didn't realize climbing through the vents was so tiring.” Tony noted, and Clint just shot him a look. 

“I'm going to put him on my floor to sleep, let me know if you find anything before then though.”

“What about Cap?” Tony asked then, making him pause in his step. “And Barnes?” Clint winced, looking down at Stiles dosing in his arms as he considered the reforming assassin who didn't do well with surprises. 

“We'll deal with them as they come.” Natasha responded for him, and Clint nodded. 

“Yeah, what Nat said.” with that, he was off, and Natasha turned back to Tony. 

“Bruce and I were talking before I came back up here, and whoever it was holding the kid, they pulled just short of permanent damage. But he should be out for the count. No normal kid would be able to move through that pain. His tolerance is ridiculously high.” Natasha nodded, she'd suspected as much but it was hard to swallow. That tiny, fragile boy didn't look like he should be able to take anything at all but he'd taken what many adults would have folded under. It was no surprise Clint felt so protective of him - and that the feeling was extending to the rest of them. 

 


	4. Chapter 4

Natasha had gone to get food while Bruce and Tony worked in the lab and Clint found himself on the couch while Stiles slept in his bed. He stared at the ceiling, one arm under his head, the other tapping out a rhythm on his stomach. He couldn't stop thinking about what Bruce had said about the others. He would have to tell them, and it would probably be better to do so before they saw Stiles here, but at the same time he knew the moment he told them they'd all rush here to meet the kid and that felt like a lot to throw on him all at once. He heaved a sigh. 

“Jarvis, where's Steve and Barnes?”

“Captain Rogers is at a meeting with Mr. Wilson." Clint smiled, he really liked Sam and he was probably someone they should also tell about Stiles.

  "And Barnes?" 

  "He is speaking with Stiles." Clint couldn't even be bothered to feel amused that the AI had to refer to Stiles by his first name because he was too busy freaking out about the fact that Barnes was with Stiles and Stiles was unprotected.

 

 

Stiles woke up in the most comfortable bed he'd ever been in. He was still sleepy, but somebody was staring at him and he realized that's what had woken him up. He blinked open his eyes, wiping away the sleep in his eyes with his fists before looking around the room. It was a big room and he was in a big bed he realized, but sitting on the windowsill staring at him was a big man with dark brown hair that was pulled back from his face. What caught Stiles' attention was the metal arm on his left side. The man was watching him with a singular focus that Stiles knew was probably supposed to be scary, but he knew this man wouldn't hurt him because no matter what, he could tell this man didn't want to hurt anyone if he didn't have to. 

  "Hello, I'm Stiles. Who are you?" The man just stared at him a moment but he did finally answer. 

  "Bucky." 

  "Are you Clint's friend?" He asked then, and Bucky shrugged. 

  "We're getting there." Stiles nodded but then he was fidgeting.

  "Do you where the bathroom is?" Bucky nodded towards the door on the far end of the bed but stayed put as Stiles climbed across the bed, but his shirt rode up as he slid off the bed and it had Bucky on his feet and across the room in seconds. 

  "Where did you get those?" 

  "The bad people Clint saved me from." Stiles said but then he hurried to the bathroom. When he came back out, Bucky was standing just where Stiles had left him. "You don't have to be sad for me. I'm okay. Clint saved me."

  "Why?" Stiles gave a shrug though he didn't use his one shoulder cause it still hurt a little, and Bucky noticed. 

  "I dunno. Because he's good."

  "Yeah he is." Stiles just stared at the man a moment.

  "Did he save you too?" Bucky shook his head. 

  "That was Steve." 

  "I haven't met him."

  "If you stay here you will. He lives here too." Stiles moved to sit back on the bed, heels swinging off the end.

  "Why were you staring at me?" Stiles asked then, and it was Bucky's turn to shrug.

  "You didn't belong in this room." He didn't have to add that he didn't think that anymore because Stiles was smiling at him. 

  "Can you help me find the bruise cream? Bruce told me I should use it because it'll make'em go away faster." Bucky just moved to the bathroom and came back with a container in his hand. With no shame, Stiles took of Clint's shirt.

  "Can you do those ones?" He asked, pointing at his back, and Bucky nodded, his metal hand clenching around the container. 

 

That's how Clint found them, Stiles standing on the bed and smearing the bruise cream on his front, Bucky standing beside the bed, gently spreading it on the boy's back. Bucky spared him only a small glance before turning back to his work, but Stiles gave a bright grin.

  "I like your friend Bucky." He said, and Clint didn't miss how a smile actually seemed to flit across Barnes' face. Maybe this wasn't such a bad thing after all. Then he was looking at the boxers tied at Stiles' waist and sighed. 

  "We need to get you some clothes." 

 

>>>

 

Steve walked into the tower with Sam to the sound of a bright peel of a child's laughter, the sound followed by a rough chuckle he hardly recognized. The sound had him moving faster, turning into a room to see a small boy dressed in spotted pyjamas swinging from Bucky's metal arm as if it was a gym bar, giggling, and Bucky was smiling down at him, the smell of spaghetti filling the room. Both looked over when they walked in the room, and though Bucky's expression tightened, the smile didn't fade. The boy just looked curious. Clint appeared in that moment, drying his hands on a dish towel. 

  "Alright Barnes, let him down it's dinner." Bucky did as directed but they were both still looking at Steve and it drew Clint's attention. The archer immediately looked sheepish.

  "Steve, Sam. I meant to call you." He said, but then the boy was smiling again, reaching out to take Bucky's hand and give a gentle tug to draw his attention. The boy then cocked his head in question and Bucky nodded. The boy smiled but when he moved to step away he swayed a bit and without even hesitating Bucky scooped him up and took him into the kitchen to eat, leaving Clint alone. 

  "So uh, Stiles is staying with me." Clint said, and Sam actually gave a small laugh, moving forward to clap a hand on Clint's shoulder before following Bucky and Stiles into the kitchen. Steve was more subdued. 

  "Clint-" 

  "I found him being held hostage, and as far as we know he's an orphan. I promised I'd stay with him until we could figure things out." Steve couldn't argue with that, could only imagine what state the boy may have been when Clint found him. As if reading his mind, Clint spoke again. "He was in bad shape, Steve." Steve watched the archer go tense at the memory. "He's still in bad shape, not that he acts like it, but he is." They both heard another burst of giggles from the boy, followed by a peel of Natasha's laughter and Steve gave in with a smile. 

  "We'll figure it out. together."

 

>>>

 

  "Jarvis?"

  "Yes, Stiles?"

  "Have you always been in the walls?"

  "I was created from a computer." Jarvis replied, "and have since become an interface for all of Mr. Stark's properties and his Iron man suits."

  "Do you like being in the walls?" 

  "My purpose is to act as interface between all of-"

  "But do you like it?"

  "In colloquial terms, I think my purpose is one that one would find quite satisfying."

  "But are you satisfied?" 

  "Yes." Stiles smiled, happy that he finally got an answer.

 

Clint listened to the conversation from the doorway, smirk on his face. Of course Stiles would force the AI to qualify things in actual human terms. He seemed quite taken with the AI which Clint supposed was a good thing. His phone rang, drawing Stiles' attention, but he just ignored it. It was Coulson and he didn't want to deal with that yet. 

  "Ready for bed, kid?" Stiles nodded but looked around at the end nervously.

  "Are you sure you don't mind sharing with me?" Stiles asked, and Clint just rolled his eyes. 

  "Look at the size of this bed, Stiles." The boy gave a little grin before settling down, watching Clint grab his own pyjamas, disappearing to change into them before coming back and settling on the other end of the bed. "Pepper said she was going to make arrangements for you to have your own bedroom next door to mine." Clint admitted, but Stiles stayed surprisingly quiet. Clint pushed himself up so he could see Stiles over all the blankets and pillows, and Stiles' big eyes were staring at him, fear lurking behind the whiskey colour.

  "I'll have to be by myself?" It hit Clint then that Stiles had spent an unknown amount of time by himself, coming into contact with people only when they wanted to hurt him. Being alone was probably not a good call. 

  "Nah, I told her it wasn't necessary. Right Jarvis?" 

  "It has been noted." He watched Stiles relax into the pillows, obviously relieved. 

  "Okay." And like that, he was asleep. Clint lied back down, staring at the ceiling once again. He was so screwed.

 


	5. Chapter 5

It didn't take anyone very long to learn that Stiles had triggers, to which Stiles reacted viscerally. 

Stiles had been sitting with Tony while Clint and Natasha went in to shield, intent on talking Fury into letting the team take care of the kid indefinitely, and Bucky had needed to go to another mandatory therapy session, and so Stiles had stuck by Tony, his next favourite, and there he sat in the lab on the floor next to Tony's feet playing on the StarkPad Tony had given him. Every once in a while, Tony noticed that Stiles would reach out, without even looking, and touch Tony, as if making sure he was there before he continued on happily. If tony wasn't in immediate reach, the boys head would shoot up and fly to wherever Tony had moved to, watching him for a minute before returning to his play. After it happened a couple of times Tony decided to just stay close. 

It was Steve who found them down there, and unfortunately it was Steve who triggered the first episode. Tony had locked the super soldier out of his lab, not wanting to be forced to leave ideas in the middle, and Steve was one of the only people who would actually come down and make sure he left to eat a decent meal - well him and Pepper but he knew better than to lock Pepper out unless he wanted to have to do his own paperwork. It was almost 2 in the afternoon when Steve made his way down to the lab and Tony had joined Stiles on the floor, the genius explaining the basic rules of the design program the five year old had been interested in.  

  "Tony, it's time for lunch." Steve called, and Tony just waved him off, not breaking his thought as he demonstrated on a tablet the concept he was explaining. "I brought food with me." He continued, revealing a pizza, and this time Tony just put up a hand to wait a second. Steve just rolled his eyes. "Tony, let me in." The change was instant. 

Tony watched as Stiles went from calm and relaxed to panicked in seconds - his quiet babbling becoming near screams.

  "Don't let him in!" Stiles all but screamed, curling up and pressing his hands over his ears. "You can't come in!" He was shaking now, breaths growing erratic. Tony was in action immediately. With a sharp order to Jarvis the glass between them and Steve went opaque, cutting Steve from view and then he was facing Stiles, hands up but not touching. 

  "Hey, kiddo, I'm not going to let him in, okay? Just look at me, that's right - is it okay if I touch you?" He asked, and though he was still gasping for breaths, Stiles nodded, tear filled eyes darting between Tony and the glass. As soon as he had permission, Tony pulled the boy in, rubbing careful circles on his back, curling around him loosely. "You're okay. You know that, right? I'm not going to let anything happen to you, and Steve doesn't want to hurt you." Though his breathing had slowed, the panic had not. 

  "I don't want to, I don't want him in here." The boy was all but hitting his own head and Tony gently caught his wrist, pulling it away.

  "Yeah I wouldn't want him in there either, kid. But don't worry, Steve won't get in your head. I promise. He doesn't want to be. He just wanted us to have lunch. It's just Steve, Stiles. You know Steve. Captain America, right?" Tony just kept talking, keeping his voice low and even. It took only another 30 seconds to stave off the panic attack but another 10 minutes to calm him down enough to talk to him. 

  "You know Steve would never hurt you, right?" Stiles nodded. 

  "I'm not scared of Steve." Stiles admitted, rubbing at his eyes and still looking miserable. "I hope I didn't hurt his feelings." 

  "Don't worry about it, Steve will understand. Hey how bout this. How bout we leave the lab and go see him in the kitchen, see whats for lunch?" He saw Steve's shadow quickly retreat at the words and was kind of glad the super soldier had heard the whole thing if not slightly weary that he'd heard not only Stiles but himself as well. "And then we can call Natasha and see what Clint's up to, how's that sound?" Stiles nodded but then he turned, wrapping his arms around Tony and holding tight. Tony didn't move right away but when he did it was to hug Stiles tightly in return, shifting his grip so he could stand without letting go, carrying the kid with him. "Alright. Here we go." And he carried Stiles up the stairs, realizing that he was just as screwed as the others. There's no way he'd let this kid go without a fight.

 

>>>

 

Natasha's phone rang while sitting in the conference room with Coulson, Clint, and Fury, and though she would normally ignore Tony's name flashing on her screen, she knew Stiles was with him, and if Tony was calling her instead of Clint then something had probably happened and he didn't want the archer freaking out. 

"Stark." She said as greeting, ignoring the looks shot in her direction. She stepped out of the room.

"Are you guys almost done? There's been a situation." Tony informed her, and she frowned. 

"We need a bit more time." She admitted and glanced at the time. "Barnes should have finished with his session 20 minutes ago. I'll call him." Then she paused. "What happened?" 

"Steve triggered him. A memory. There was nearly a panic attack." Natasha's chest constricted - Clint would want to go back, but if they wanted to keep Stiles they couldn't leave yet.

"I'll call Barnes. Is he okay now?"

"Yeah. He said he's not scared of Steve - so at least he recognized it as a trigger even though he doesn't know what a trigger is but he's eating pizza with Cap now and it's not a problem." Then he cleared his throat and Natasha knew it meant whatever came next was bad. "Stiles was triggered by the words 'let me in'. And the way he acted - I think whatever he's remembering may have to do with mind control. Or at least an invasive presence in his mind." Natasha closed her eyes, giving herself a moment to collect herself. If she ever got her hands on the people who had hurt this child there would be nothing left. 

"Understood. Clint and I will be back as soon as possible." Then she hung up, immediately calling Barnes.

"What." Was the gruff answer, and Natasha just rolled her eyes.

"Stiles needs you." Was what she answered with, and the change was immediate.

"Where is he? What happened?"

"He had a panic attack. Steve triggered a memory. Clint and I are still speaking with the director. We can't get back yet."

"I'm already on my way." Barnes snapped, and now Natasha just smiled. 

"Good. Don't be too hard on Steve. Tony says it was an accident." There was a grunt in response before Barnes hung up but with it Natasha was confident that Stiles would be taken care of. 

 

>>>

 

Clint found Steve in the gym after he put Stiles to bed, watched as he attacked the punching bag with everything he had. Clint knew what his teammates looked like when they were blowing off steam, and Steve had that look.

  "He's okay you know." Steve reacted sharply to his presence and Clint thought it was a testament to how close they'd all become that Steve hadn't noticed him coming. "There's no way you could've known your words would trigger him."

  "Let me in is pretty aggressive. I should've been more careful."

  "It wasn't the tone. He told me about it. He doesn't remember much, but he remembers being scared, because someone wouldn't listen when he said no.” Clint had needed to take a moment to calm down after Stiles had told him that, because the idea of anyone else hurting Stiles made him want to rip them apart. Stiles had been curled up in Bucky's arms when he'd told him, holding onto Clint's hands in his own, and even with the contact with both of them he'd had a hard time speaking. Clint had been the one to come speak to Steve because Bucky had just looked so damn lost watching Stiles sleep in Clint's bed so Clint had told him to stay with him while he went down to Steve. "Whatever happened to him - it wasn't as a kid." Clint said then, and Steve turned, surprised. 

"What do you mean?"

"The things he remembers - things that were happening at the same time - I remember too. He remembers things like slogans from tv. I remember the slogans too. There from years ago. And he's not old enough to know them as he is now." He rolled his shoulders, forcing his hands to unclench. "And when he was talking about what he remembered - why your words scared him - the space around him, sounded like a high school. At least according to what Jarvis said when Stiles fell asleep." He stepped closer then, itching to go upstairs but wanting to make sure his team mate was okay. "But basically, it's not your fault. So don't sweat it." Steve nodded, but this time when he turned back to the punching bag it wasn't with nearly as much anger. Considering his job done, Clint headed back to the elevator, making his way back to his floor and his bedroom where Stiles was asleep. When he walked into the room he found Bucky still there but this time he was in his bed as well, curled up behind Stiles, who'd curled into his heat, free hand reaching out to press against Clint's side of the bed. There were tear tracks on his face that had Clint's chest tightening and when he walked into the room Bucky's eyes opened to meet his but he made no move to get up. Clint just rolled his eyes but said nothing, stripping down to slide into bed himself. Stiles moved the moment Clint touched his hand, moving in his sleep so he was holding onto them both, and the frown that had been scrunching up his face finally smoothing out. 

"Guess that answers that." Clint murmured, amused, but rather than answer Bucky just closed his eyes again, letting out a breath. Clint was too tired to argue and followed suit. 

 


	6. Chapter 6

Stiles was curled up in a corner of the couch staring off into space when Bucky found him. He didn't say anything at first, he could hear Clint in the kitchen so he just moved closer until he was sitting next to Stiles. Still silent, the boy moved closer, curling up against Bucky's side, tucking himself against the man. They sat in silence for nearly a minute before Stiles finally spoke. 

“Can you get paint on your arm?” he asked, and Bucky nodded. 

“Haven't found much that sticks to it.”

“Do you want to finger paint with me?” Bucky just nodded again. He didn't mind finger painting, and he also didn't want to do anything to upset the tentative hold on reality Stiles had made. 

“Okay. Where's the paint?” Stiles just slid off the couch, taking Bucky's offered hand before guiding him over behind the couch. He hadn't been able to see it from the door but there was a giant roll of paper rolled out, closed containers of paint next to them. Stiles just sat down so Bucky sat next to him, reaching for the blue paint even as Stiles reached for green. He dipped two fingers in, making waves along his corner of the page, and watched the small smile lift up Stiles' lips. He immediately made to copy, dipping his fingers into the green, making what Bucky thought looked like grass next to his water. They painted in near silence for a minute before Stiles let out a sigh, and Bucky looked over, not saying a word, just waiting. 

“My mom used to finger paint with me.” and Bucky didn't respond at first, because he wasn't sure why Stiles was talking as if it were past tense. He only had to wait a minute for Stiles to talk again, and it was as he made a swirl of green, the edges mixing with Bucky's blue. “She's sick now.” he murmured, eyes fixed on the paint. “She thinks I'm a demon.” and the words were nearly a whisper. “She said I was trying to kill her.” he looked up at Bucky then, and there was a world of pain in his eyes. “Do you think that's why the bad men thought I had magic? Because mom said I'm a demon?” he asked it with the sincerity of a 5 year old, and it broke Bucky's heart. 

“My mama always told me that demons are evil.” Bucky responded, “And you're as good as anyone can be, Stiles.” Stiles just looked down at the paint again, at the green on his fingertips. 

“Are you sure?” Bucky reached out then, wrapping his paint covered hand around Stiles', the blue and green mixing between their hands. 

“As sure as anyone can be.” he ducked his head to catch Stiles' gaze. “I've seen evil. And it can have a lot of different shapes. But I can tell you for certain that none of them look like you.” Stiles let go of Bucky's hand but only so he could crawl into his lap, leaning against Bucky's torso as he continued to paint. Bucky just bent around him, reaching for a new colour. He grabbed the yellow, painting a sunshine above his waves, and that's when Stiles reached for his hand, the metal one, red paint now on his hand, and drew a heart in the curve of Bucky's elbow. Bucky wrapped his limbs around Stiles, nuzzling into the boy who gave a giggle in response. The giggle turned into a squawk when the paint in his hand overturned from the actions, spilling paint all over him, which he immediately turned to smear on Bucky. Bucky just grinned, grabbing a new paint as a weapon, watching Stiles' face light in a matching grin. They ended up covered in paint, Stiles shrieking with laughter, Bucky unable to help but laugh as well, paint dripping from his hair while Stiles' hair was all but slicked back with it. There hardly any paint at all on the paper but it was all over the furniture. They'd run out of paint when Stiles threw himself forward with the confidence of someone who knew they'd always be caught, and Bucky couldn't deny the pleasure he felt at being the one so trusted as he caught Stiles in his arms, hugging him close.

“I love you.” Stiles said against his shoulder, and Bucky pressed his lips against Stiles' paint soaked temple. 

“I love you too.” and he'd never felt freer than he felt saying those words. Clint's guffawing laughter drew their attention and they both turned to see him in the kitchen doorway. He was laughing at the state they were in, but Bucky could see his relief. Bucky could smell food now too, smell that it was something with a lot of spices, and it seemed Stiles noticed at the same time because his nose was suddenly in the air, taking in a large breath. 

“You made curry?”

“Well someone said they really wanted it this morning.” Clint replied, coming closer, and Stiles reached out a hand, never letting go of Bucky, and so Bucky didn't try to pass him away. Clint just took Stiles' hand, not hesitating at the paint. 

“Do you think Tony will be angry?” he asked then, sounding slightly worried, But Clint shook his head, and Clint reached up with his free hand to push the hair that was starting to slide into Stiles' face back.

“Nah, but if you want to eat the curry you both need to wash up.” they both saw and felt Stiles tense at the words.

“By myself?”

“Well, Bucky kinda has to go use his own shower because it has a special thing to help clean his arm, and also Steve's looking for him, but I was gonna give you a hand if you don't mind. Wouldn't want you to miss behind your ears.” Stiles relaxed immediately before looking at Bucky. 

“Are you gonna walk with us to our bathroom?” he asked, and Bucky couldn't do anything but nod. He knew he'd be tracking paint through the halls but nothing would make him put Stiles down before he was ready. 

“I wonder what Steve wants to talk to you about.” then he giggled. “Maybe that the paint he gave me was for paper and not us and you're gonna get in trouble cause you're a grownup.” Clint laughed behind him but Bucky just shook his head, not fighting his smile.

“Steve's been covered in paint since he could hold a paintbrush. If he didn't want paint on skin he shoulda known better than to give us finger paint.” Stiles nodded serenely, happy to agree, and happy to go from his arms to Clint's when they reached the archer's floor. Before he could leave though, Stiles was calling him back.

“You're coming for curry, right?” and even though he'd had every intention of doing just that, he responded anyways. 

“Wouldn't miss it. Race you.” and he darted off the floor to the echo of Stiles' laughter.

 

When Stiles slid into the kitchen in his footed pyjamas, Clint on his heels, he laughed and did a little dance as Clint went to get bowls for them. 

"We won!" He crowed, and that's when Bucky's chuckle caught up with them. 

"Sure about that?" Stiles gasped in surprise, feet slipping out from under him from the slippery kitchen tiles, but Bucky was there, swinging him up and onto his hip, supporting him with his flesh arm so he could pick up the hot bowl of curry with his metal hand, carrying it to the table. Stiles just looked at him, catching sight of the heart he'd painted on Bucky's arm still perfect condition, and he grinned. 

"I'm sure." He said, pressing his fingers to the heart, and Bucky didn't stop himself from pressing his forehead to Stiles' temple. 

"I think maybe we all won." And Stiles twisted so he could wrap his arms around Bucky's neck. Then he pressed a sloppy kiss to Bucky's cheek before scrambling out of his arms and into his seat at the table. 

"Come on, Bucky, I'm starving! Stop being such a slow poke." And Clint burst out laughing again.

"Yeah, jeez, Buck, share the food." Bucky shot the archer a mock glare but did as he was told, and the warmth he felt had nothing to do with the food and everything to do with the company. 

 

>>>

 

Clint woke up and found himself lying in the dark, wondering what had woken him. He reached for his hearing aids, having established with Stiles early on that they needed to be taken out and told Stiles if he needed him just to give him a shake and – 

Stiles. He flipped over even as he put the aids in and found the other side of the bed empty. Where was Stiles? He was on his feet in an instant, ready to wake everyone up to find the boy – and that's when he saw him. Stiles was curled up against the window, knees pulled up to his chin, arms clasped around them. He was staring out the window, gaze caught by the moon, and Clint moved right over, dropping across from him, glancing up at the moon as well and noticing that it was full. 

“Did I wake you up?” Stiles asked softly, still staring at the sky, and Clint shrugged. 

“Nah, I would've woken up anyways.” he paused, glancing back at Stiles' face, how the light shining in the window seemed to light up his eyes like they were made of amber. “What woke you up?” Stiles didn't respond at first, and when he turned to look at Clint the way the moonlight shifted made it almost look like it was drained from Stiles' eyes. Clint had to force back the shiver from the cold chill than ran down his spine at the thought. 

“It feels like a pull.” Stiles finally said, looking back at the sky, eyes filling with light again. “In my tummy. Or maybe where my heart is. Yeah. It feels like something is pulling me cause it wants me to run outside.”

“Let's go then.” Stiles blinked at the words, obviously not having expected them. 

“Go outside?” 

“Sure, why not?” 

“It's night time.”

“You want to run. Let's run.” Stiles' grin filled his features, and the moonlight made him look damn near angelic. 

“Okay.” Clint pushed to his feet, lifting Stiles' with him and into his arms. 

“Jarvis?” 

“The others are already convening in the garage.” and Stiles looked at the ceiling in surprise.

“Why?”

“Perhaps they too felt the pull of the moon.” was Jarvis' response, and for once Clint didn't hear even a hint of sarcasm. He wondered briefly if this was magic – Stiles' magic – drawing them all out of bed – making them crave the fresh air – but it didn't matter. Clint took them to the lift and soon they were in the garage, the rest of the team already gathered, and together they all climbed into a vehicle, Clint behind the wheel, Stiles curling up in Bucky's lap in the passenger seat. If it wasn't for Bucky's metal arm securing Stiles to his chest, and the seatbelt securing him, Clint may have insisted on Stiles having his own seat, but there was a fragility to Stiles' gaze that he didn't want to break, and so he said nothing. He took them to a football field – the grass stretching across the length and lit up only by the light of the moon. For a moment the air felt still – and then Stiles was off, tearing across the grass with a carefree laugh falling from his lips, and the rest could only fall suit, running as well. They ran together and it was almost like a game of tag – where they were all it and yet none of them were – chasing moon beams as much as they chased each other. It was hours later when they finally collapsed together, the whole team laying together on the grass, winded and yet wide awake, breathing in tune with each other, and Clint looked around him at the peace that he could see on everyone's face and he wondered if maybe this really _was_ Stiles' magic, and if it was, it was the best thing he thought any of them had ever felt. He drew Stiles in, pressing a kiss to Stiles' temple, and Stiles looked over at him with a delighted grin, snuggling in against his side, hand reaching out blindly for Bucky who curled forward too, and Clint realized that he'd spent a lot of time lately in close quarters with Bucky Barnes - and even as he had the thought he found himself meeting Bucky's gaze, and there was a serenity there he'd never seen before. The hush that fell over them felt tentative but comfortable and he didn't pull back when Bucky shifted closer so that the two of them were curled around Stiles, foreheads nearly touching. Instead, Clint found himself relaxing, and when Bucky's flesh hand brushed against his where it was curled around Stiles, he didn't pull away then either. 

 


	7. Chapter 7

Natasha watched Bruce walk onto the communal floor with a frown on his face, flipping through results on the StarkPad in his hand, and she couldn't help but call out to him.

"Everything okay?"

"The results don't make any sense." Bruce said, and Natasha frowned at him. 

"What results?"

"Stiles' blood results." And that had Natasha's brows winging up. 

"Why not?"

"The tests say he should be in his mid-late 20s." 

"Have you told Clint yet?" Bruce shook his head. 

"I didn't want to scare Stiles. We don't know what's happened to him - and if the data is true he's lost over a dozen years of his life. We don't know what giving him that information could trigger." Natasha couldn't argue with that and she sighed. 

"It's your call, Bruce."

"The others need to know, but I think we should hold off telling Stiles until we know more."

"How will we get that information?" 

"I'm running Stiles' DNA through all the databases Tony has access too, and it's a pretty extensive list. If he's on one of those lists, young or old, we'll find it."

 

>>>

 

"Do we have any idea how they did this to him?" Natasha shook her head, reaching out to place a calming hand on Clint's knee. 

"Bruce is working on it." Clint rubbed his hands over his face. This was so much pressure.

"And he doesn't want us to say anything to him?"

"He isn't sure what telling him could trigger. He's afraid it could unlock more memories." She didn't have to specify for Clint to know we was referring to Stiles' panic attack with Tony and he huffed out a breath, thinking of the 5 year old currently downstairs in the gym Tony had made for them with Bucky and Steve.

"So he's just going to keep running tests?" She nodded. 

"I thought I might call Charles." Clint just cast Natasha a sidelong glance.

"You sure that's a good idea? If telling him could trigger something don't you think having Prof. X digging around in his head could be worse?"

"Charles knows what he's doing." Was Natasha's response, but Clint just stared at her.

"Do you trust him with Stiles?" The question was a loaded one - and Natasha just stared back. They knew there was the possibility that the magic the assholes holding Stiles had been looking for was actually a mutation in which case Charles would want to bring him into his school. Finally, Natasha shrugged. 

"He knows better than to try and steal from us." That earned her a tight smile. 

"How do we ask him?" Clint asked then, and he didn't have to specify that he meant Stiles, Natasha knew.

"We tell him as much of the truth as we can. Charles might be able to see something in his memories that Stiles can't properly remember. Something to help us find out what happened to him." Clint nodded, standing. Then he tossed a glance at Natasha over his shoulder. 

"It creeps me out that you call him Charles." That earned him a smirk and then Natasha was off, probably to contact the professor. Clint made his way to the stairs. He needed to think about this before he introduced the idea to Stiles.

 

>>>

 

  "Do we trust him?" Was Tony's first question, and Clint shrugged. He wasn't going to lie. 

  "It was Natasha's idea."

  "Do we trust him?" It was Barnes that repeated the question, and Clint wondered how the guy managed to still look threatening with a 5 year old perched on his shoulders. 

  "I've met Charles Xavier. He's a good man." Steve said then, but Bucky just cast him a look that informed the super soldier that that wasn't actually the answer to the question. 

  "I want to meet him." Stiles said then, and Clint just nodded, he'd been expecting that. 

  "Nat's already talking to him. As long as you're okay with it, she said he wanted to meet you tonight."

  "Okay. Can we get ice cream after?" Clint huffed out a laugh. 

  "Yeah, sure we can, kid." 

 

>>>

 

“Mr. Stilinski. It's a pleasure to meet you. Natasha speaks highly of you.” Stiles regarded the man very carefully. They'd told him before the man had arrived that he specialized in being able to see into peoples thoughts, and that made Stiles wary. The man was smiling at him, and it was a kind smile, but something told him that this man could be very dangerous too. He could tell the man had heard the thoughts because he felt the flicker of surprise, watched the slightest frown enter the man's blue eyes. “I have no intention of hurting you, Mr. Stilinski.”

"How did you know my name was Stilinski? I haven't told anyone."

"You repeat your own name quite frequently in your mind. May I ask why that is?"

"I don't want to forget."

"Why do you think you'd forget?" Stiles shrugged. But the older man didn't let it go. "If you're afraid, you should tell someone. There is no shame in fear, and the people who care for you can only help you with fears you share with them."

"I don't know you." Stiles countered, and that earned him a smile. 

"No, you don't. Would you like to?" Again Stiles shrugged. 

"Why did they want you to meet me?"

"Because they're worried. They want to find out what's happened to you and think I may be able to see things even you cannot."

"If I can't remember them maybe I shouldn't." Now, the man didn't answer out loud, but in his mind.

_“That is a possibility, and I will not look if you do not wish it, but are you not curious about all the things you forget? You can feel the memories at the edge of your thoughts, just out of reach.”_

Stiles' mind shoved the professor out before he even realized what was happening and Stiles was off the couch and moving, bolting from the room. Clint swore and tore after him, and Bucky turned on the professor, eyes dark, but Natasha stepped in the way, putting a hand up for patience. 

  "What happened?" She asked, but the professor was staring after Stiles. 

  "My words - they triggered something in his mind. A protective measure." 

  "What did you say?" 

  "It wasn't what I was explaining - it was the fact that I was there. In his thoughts. It appears this is not the first time someone else had spoken directly into Mr. Stilinski's mind, and the last time it was obviously quite hostile."

 

>>>

 

A question rattled around Stiles' mind, and it wasn't even in the professors voice. Let me in. They were the same words Steve had said but it wasn't Steve's voice either. Stiles shuddered, remembering being scared - more scared than he'd ever been before - remembered feeling trapped, alone - unlike anything he'd felt when he'd been kept prisoner. 

_“Stiles, I apologize. I did not mean to frighten you, nor did I mean to force you to remember something I'm sure you would rather have left forgotten. Let me help you.”_

The professors voice said in his thoughts, and Stiles put his hands over his ears.

  "You're in my head." Stiles argued, trying to squeeze himself smaller, tucked into the corner in Clint's room between the wall and the bed.

 _“No, I'm speaking into your mind - I am not within it. I will never do so without your permission.”_ The thoughts were soothing, but Stiles couldn't help the tears that slid down his cheeks. 

  "I'm scared."

 _“I understand. Will you show me why?”_ Stiles pushed the feelings of terror he'd felt at the professor's presence towards the professor's voice. There was a moment of silence and Stiles stopped covering his ears, wrapping his arms around his knees instead, resting his chin there. 

 _“This proves what we suspected. There are memories that you cannot remember. Can you think of any reason as to why?”_ Stiles nodded, he had an idea. After all, he was very clever and he knew he could speak better than he could before he'd been taken and he knew he had forgotten things - important things. And he'd seen the date on the news, it was in the future. 

  " _I think I was older and they made me little again."_

_“Why do you think they did that?”_

_"Because they think I have magic, and maybe a little me is more likely to say so than big me."_ He sniffles. " _Big me is probably much braver than me."_

_“You're plenty brave, Stiles. Perhaps you can return, once Clint finds you. Your friend Mr. Barnes is very upset with me that you were upset.”_

_"I love them."_ Stiles admitted. _"They're my new family and I love them."_

_“I can assure you, Stiles, the feeling is quite mutual.”_

  "Stiles?" Stiles looked up at the sound of Clint's voice and the archer came into view. He looked relieved and put a hand to his ear. "Found him guys." Then he sat on the bed beside where Stiles was hiding. 

  "You okay, kid?" Stiles considered the question for a moment - was he okay? Finally he decided on nodding. He was okay, he thought. 

  "I know I'm supposed to be older. And that scary things happened to me then. Scarier than now. Scarier than where you found me." He looked up at Clint with big lost eyes. "I don't want to be scared like that."

  "Come 'ere." Stiles moved immediately, standing so Clint could pull him in, and he curled up in the archer's lap, feeling safe there. "I won't make you remember anything you don't want to." Clint assured, and Stiles nodded, obviously comforted, but the grip he'd taken on Clint's shirt didn't loosen. 

  "I think Bucky is scaring the professor. He asked me to go back cause Bucky was worried." 

  "Probably not a bad idea." Clint agreed. Rather than try and put Stiles down, Clint just shifted him a bit so he could stand, the kid wrapping around him like an octopus, head resting on his shoulder. 

  "Is the professor looking for magic too?" Stiles asked, and Clint shook his head. 

  "Nah. He's just helping us figure out how you ended up with those people. If he does or says something you don't like we'll make him leave, don't worry, Stiles. We don't care if you have magic or not." Stiles just curled into him more.

  "K." 

 

They returned to the common room to find Bucky and the professor staring at each other, Natasha watching the former carefully. All eyes turned to Clint and Stiles when they entered the room and Stiles reached for Bucky. The assassin accepted the child into his arms but Stiles was careful to whisper very quietly so the others didn't hear him then.

  "Thank you." He said softly, and Bucky leaned in so their heads touched. Stiles understood he was asking for what. "He scared me, and you scared him. Fairs fair." The words startled the assassin but he flashed a grin and a wink. Stiles knew it meant anytime. He grinned back and then settled to lean back into the metal arm so he could regard the professor shrewdly. 

  "Can people stop you from looking in their thoughts?" Stiles asked, and the professor shook his head.

  "Not often." 

  "Do you see things even when you don't want to?" 

  "Not anymore." The professor said, and Stiles nodded, looking at Bucky. The man returned his gaze, asking his question with the tightening around his eyes. Do you want to remember? Stiles shook his head, because he didn't, not really, but everyone wanted to know what had happened to him and he could admit to being a little bit curious. 

  "If you look at my memories, do I have to remember them?" 

  "Not if you don't want to." 

  "Okay. I don't want to."

  "Very well." The professor moved his wheelchair closer and Bucky crouched obligingly, allowing the professor to reach out to touch his fingertips to Stiles' temple.

 

Clint watched it all happen is silence, neither the professor or the boy moving. It was the professor who moved back first and there was no missing the alarm in his features. He looked at Natasha and the look had Natasha frowning. That's when Stiles blinked his eyes open. 

  "Did you see anything?" 

  "I did." The professor admitted, but the tone had Stiles frowning. 

  "Was it bad?"

  "Unexpected." The professor deflected, and Stiles frowned. Bucky stood then, bringing Stiles with him, but the boy was still frowning. 

  "I don't understand." 

  "I'm not quite sure I do either." The professor admitted with another glance at Natasha, and at the look Natasha turned to Clint. 

  "I believe you promised Stiles ice cream."

  "Are you not coming?" 

  "I'll catch up." She looked at Clint then and the archer huffed out a breath.

  "Ice cream it is. Come on Barnes."

 


	8. Chapter 8

  "What did you see?" Natasha asked, and Charles gave her a troubled look. 

  "If I may," he reached out a hand and she sat next to him obligingly, leaning into his touch. 

Images flashed in her mind - of a young man that glowed like molten bronze. She knew it was Stiles, recognized those eyes, those moles and that pale skin - but most of all she recognized the look in his eyes, the look that promised he would never give up. She saw him first with hair buzzed short, no older than 16, and standing against a man at least twice his age who exuded feral danger. She saw him taking a punch, standing between two teens being tortured and an old man who hit him again and again. She saw him hugging his friend as his friend cried, saw his hair grow longer, saw him face down monster after monster, saw him offer his life for the lives of others over and over - taking a flare, inhaling water - then she saw him face off against himself, and win. She watched the eyes all but glow in the shadowed room, not even flinching as a gun was put to his head, flinching only at the gunshot and the blood that splattered his features, but he didn't wipe it away. She saw him stand with weapons in hand, grin wolfish as he protected those who'd seemed far stronger, but he was also the last standing. She saw the 3 men made up of spare parts, saw him take them down one by one, saw the bright red hair of his companion, her scream bringing out the desire to check her ears for blood. It was humans who finally took him down - got him on his own - took out his father - who made him promise not to give in - and sent the boy spiralling into despair. It was humans, and not monsters, that cornered him and took him away, and it was humans who beat him, wanting something they called a spark to create their weapons to face the monsters. What was old was turned young and still they beat him - but still he denied them - lost but never without that brave glint of molten bronze in his eyes. 

 

Natasha pulled back, blinking away the images, but Charles drew her attention with his frown. 

  "Did you notice anything unusual?" He asked, and Natasha immediately dismissed every actual event - as unusual of a life as Stiles seemed to have lead, she knew that wasn't what Charles was asking. 

  "All the perspectives are of him rather than from him." She paused, digesting the information. "Are you saying they're not his memories?"

  "I think Stiles has some sort of -ability." He decided on. "I think it's aware, like a living thing. I think we're seeing it's memories, rather than his. His don't exist right now, but his - ability - shows what he can potentially remember. You'll notice that the perspective is always close, an extension of his immediate field of vision, only turned inward." Natasha nodded and Charles continued. "Like a magnetic field. But stronger." 

  "So the magic they were looking for, you think it exists?"

  "I think some form of ability exists, but magic or mutation, it's hard to say." Natasha gave him a look for that that earned her a small smile. "Natasha-"

  "You aren't taking him anywhere, Charles. Mutation or not, he's staying with us."

  "And if he does have a mutation? Are you equipped to help him through that?" Natasha stood in one fluid motion, and on queue the elevator door opened. 

  "We can handle it. But Charles - if you try and force him to admit his abilities, we will have an issue." He inclined his head in understanding.

 

>>>

 

  "What did he see?" Natasha looked up in surprise to see Stiles staring at her, expression pinched with nerves. He'd gone to bed with Clint hours earlier but it looked like worry had kept him awake.

  "Is Clint still asleep?" Stiles nodded.

  "He was worried, I didn't want to make him more worried." Natasha waved him forward and he moved into the room, curling up onto the couch next to her, whisky eyes almost glowing as they stared at her. "What did he see?"

  "You were right. You were bigger." Stiles nodded, he'd thought as much. "And you went through a lot."

  "How old am I supposed to be?" 

  "We think about 28." 

  "That's a lot of years." Stiles admitted, and Natasha nodded, reaching out to wrap a hand around Stiles' calf in comfort.

  "Do you want them back?" Stiles shrugged. 

  "Sometimes." Then he was looking at Natasha again, a fear in his gaze. "What if older me is mean? What if older me does bad things or wants to hurt people?" Natasha gave a gentle squeeze where she'd made contact. 

  "I asked Charles to show me what he saw, and I promise you, you are a good person no matter how big or small you are." Stiles offered her a smile. 

  "I'm glad Clint found me." 

  "Me too."

  "I think - I think it would be nice to be able to choose." Stiles finally said, and Natasha nodded, understanding. 

"I'll talk to Bruce and Tony in the morning." Stiles nodded, standing up only to move closer to her to hug her tightly. She hugged him tightly in return. 


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> alright so this chapter is sort of a jumbled mess. we are getting closer to the end and i had so many ideas and a lot of them seemed to splat into this chapter haha. sorry about that - hope ya'll still enjoy !

  "Alright, come on. Today's an out of the tower day." Sam said, getting to his feet, and Stiles, Clint, and Bucky all looked at him in surprise. Then Stiles was on his feet. 

  "Out of the tower?" He said excitedly, "Where?" 

  "We'll figure it out," then he looked at Clint and Bucky. "Only 1." He ordered, and both assassins looked at each other for a moment before Clint flopped back on the couch and Bucky stood. Though Clint was nervous about Stiles leaving, Bucky looked downright terrified, the look lingering in the back of his gaze, and Clint understood that. Having someone so fragile rely on you, having them care and want you around for the first time in a while was hard to let go of. 

  "You guys have fun. Bring me back a souvenir." Stiles ran over and leapt on him with a hug and Clint caught him just in time not to be winded. 

  "See you later!" And then he was off again, grabbing Bucky's hand to drag him after Sam.

 

>>>

 

  "Clint, Clint! Guess what Bucky and I made?" The archer rolled to his feet, watching as Stiles ran around the corner, Bucky meandering in on his heels. The boy had nothing in his hands so Clint's gaze moved to Bucky and that's when he saw the container. 

  "What've you got there?"

  "We made thumbprint cookies!"

  "With strawberry jam." Bucky added. The words had Clint blinking but he moved right over, hoisting Stiles up when the boy hopped excitedly, wanting to see into the container too. 

  "Sam gave us the recipe. He said we could pick up the rest later cause he didn't want Bucky to have to carry them all by himself." 

  "That was pretty nice of him." Clint noted, and Stiles nodded, face split in a huge grin. "Is that all you did today?" Stiles shook his head.

  "We went to a giant park first, that all 3 of us could fit on. We played tag! Bucky was the sneakiest and Sam had the best plans, but I was the fastest." Stiles said proudly. "Then we were hungry and Sam said we could make grilled cheeses if we went back to his house so we did cause Bucky didn't like the hotdog guy cause he said he couldn't see what was in the hotdogs and I like grilled cheeses better cause hotdogs are made of the gross stuff and then we saw that Sam had baking books and I thought cookies would be fun and Bucky said his favourite used to be the thumbprint ones and I said I liked the strawberry jam ones so Sam found us a recipe and then let us bake them and he went and found enough strawberry jam to fill them all with." Clint couldn't help but mirror Stiles' grin as the kid talked a mile a minute to recount his day.

  "How many cookies did you guys make exactly?"

  "We made a box for everyone! Well, everyone but Jarvis cause he can't eat cookies. Sorry Jarvis."

  "Your consideration is appreciated." Stiles just beamed again before turning his gaze back on Clint.

  "Can we go pick up the rest of them?" Stiles asked. "Pretty please?" Clint just reached into the tin, grabbing one of the cookies to try. He blinked in surprise and didn't miss the smug look in Bucky's eyes. They were really good. 

  "Sure we can, kid. I'll grab some keys."

 

>>>

 

Tony found Stiles sprawled out on the floor, StarkTablet in front of him. What struck him first thought was that the boy was alone: Clint wasn't lounging in the background and Bucky wasn't hovering. He made his way over, intending to ask when he realized just what Stiles was doing. The boy wasn't playing a program they'd installed for him, instead he was staring at a screen of code, tiny fingers scrolling through it. Tony had settled on the ground next to Stiles before he'd realized he'd intended to do so and Stiles looked up with a frown.

“Jarvis didn't want me to go on the internet so I'm going to change the numbers so I can.” that had Tony's eyebrow's winging up. 

“Why won't he let you?”

“Clint, Bucky, and Natasha had to go see Phil and told Jarvis to watch over me and make sure I didn't get into trouble. Jarvis said that he did not think the internet would be safe if i was alone.”

“Well, you're not alone now – but this is pretty interesting, what you're doing here – can I see?” Stiles passed over the tablet and Tony felt more and more surprised. “This is pretty impressive, kid. Where'd you learn this?” Stiles just shrugged. 

“I dunno, I just know it.” Tony nodded, getting more comfortable. 

“Here – look at this-”

 

Steve found Tony and Stiles huddled over a tablet, and stayed in the doorway, watching. It gave him a warm feeling, seeing Tony like this and seeing Stiles so comfortable, so excited, so child-like after so much hardship. Steve finally moved into the room and Stiles looked up first, offering a smile. 

“Hi Steve! Tony's teaching me to code!” Steve couldn't help his startled laugh. 

“Is he now?” he crouched down next to them, not missing how Tony avoided his gaze, but made no move to leave. “And how's that going?” 

“I broke into the internet all by myself!”

 

>>>

 

_One month later_

 

Only Tony and Steve had ever heard Stiles really scared, and so the screams of terror had them all moving fast to find him. When silence fell, Clint thought his heart might have stopped for a minute. They found the boy curled up in a corner, hands over his ears, shaking, and Clint moved right in, hands up in surrender when Stiles' eyes flew to him, staring in panic.

  "Stiles, it's just me. We heard you scream. What happened?" Stiles pointed a shaky hand towards the window, and all eyes followed his motion. What they saw were scratch marks in the glass that definitely hadn't been there before.

  "Jarvis, where the hell did that come from?"

  "There was a wolf attempting to get into the room, but at Stiles' scream, it ran." 

  "How the hell did a wolf get up to the deck?"

  "It would seem that he scaled the side as a man." That had everyone going quiet and it was Stiles who finally spoke up, tears on his face, sniffling.

  "It was a werewolf." Stiles said, and everyone looked back to him, Clint reaching out to pull him into a hug. "They said a werewolf killed my dad because I wouldn't use magic." And the boy all but sobbed in Clint's arms. Natasha watched with a frown as Bucky went out on the deck already, eyes scanning the area, searching for any sign of the intruder, but there was nothing. What Stiles said didn't match what Charles had showed her. It had been humans to hurt his father, not a werewolf, but the ones who hunted them.

  "Anything, Buck?" The man in question shook his head, and Stiles calmed enough then to wipe the tears away.

  "Is he here to kill me too?" Stiles asked then, and Natasha moved to put a hand on Bucky's arm before he could outwardly react as Clint answered. 

  "We won't let anything happen to you, Stiles. I promise. If he wants to get to you, he'll have to go through us, okay?" Stiles shook his head. 

  "Then you'll get hurt." Clint just gave a smile. 

  "We're a team, Stiles. We have each other's backs. That includes you too. We'll protect you and each other, okay?" Stiles nodded to that but instead of moving away just cuddled into Clint's embrace. "Come on, let's put Tony to good use and find out who was climbing his building." 

 


	10. Chapter 10

The last thing Clint remembered seeing was Stiles, eyes wide and terrified as some asshole in a mask hoisted him up. He'd been shouting Clint's name - not that the archer could hear him, his hearing aids having been fritzed in the explosion - but he could see his name being formed, could tell by his expression that he was shouting. Then there had been pain and everything had gone dark. 

He opened his eyes to darkness and knew right away that things were not in his favour. He did a quick check of his physical self - he seemed to be intact and in minimal pain - mostly his head from whatever knocked him out. He looked around then and realized he was in a cell much like the one he'd found Stiles in, but worse, he was alone. The realization had a rush of panic going through him, but he took a deep breath against it. Now wasn't the time. He was dressed in what he'd been wearing when he and Stiles had been out - jeans and an old T-shirt - but his cellphone, wallet, and his knife were all missing. He rolled his eyes at the stupidity of whoever had grabbed him. They'd left him with his shoes - that gave him everything he needed. Before he could act, he heard the sound of voices approaching and the realization had him touching his ear - so maybe his hearing aids were still working after all. He tapped a signal on it, knowing it would activate the GPS Tony had built into them, and again laughed at the stupidity these people obviously held. Then a door swung open, leading to the room that lead to Clint's cell, and 6 men came in, 2 of them holding Stiles. Stiles looked in rough shape and it had Clint's hands turning to fists. There was a bruise on Stiles' cheekbone and the hands holding him were definitely leaving bruises as well. Stiles looked up at him, eyes wide with terror, but there was a pride there too. He still hadn't given in. Good. 

  "I'll make you guys a deal. Give me the kid and let us go and I won't kill you." The offer was met with snickers and Clint shrugged. "Your funeral. Literally. I'm going to kill you."

  "You're a funny guy. Let's see if you stay that way." A gun was pressed to Stiles' head. "If you attack, we shoot him." 

  "Don't listen!" Stiles shouted, and the man brought the gun down across his face, earning a whimper, but Stiles didn't shout again. Nor did he flinch when the end of the gun pressed against his temple. Clint clenched his jaw. They couldn't be far - the batteries in these hearing aids only lasted 8 hours cause his good ones were in the shop and he'd had these ones in for 5 hours before they were grabbed. So Clint put up his hands despite Stiles' pleading gaze. All the men save the one holding Stiles rushed into the cell, and they dragged him out, ziptying his wrists together but leaving his ankles free. Clint wanted to roll his eyes. Amateurs. But then he saw Stiles' face, and the terror there was unlike anything Clint had seen before. 

  "I'll be fine, kid." Clint said with an easy grin that didn't fade even when he saw two more guards bring in a tub of water. Was that meant to scare him? Did they not know who he was? He'd been round this bend before. But that's when he realized it wasn't meant to scare him. The man with the gun gripped Stiles tightly by the chin, forcing him to look at the tub of water. 

  "We're going to drown him. Your friend here. We're going to drown him over and over again." Stiles' lip wobbled but Clint just gave him an encouraging smile.

  "I'll be fine." He repeated, and let himself be dragged over. He was glad that even his backups were water proof although he almost regretted it when he heard Stiles shout for them to stop right before his head was shoved under water. 

 

Clint sucked in air in desperate breaths, still coughing up water, chest aching from having the water pumped from his lungs when he'd fallen unconscious after the 5th round. He lifted his head to give Stiles a bleary smile from where he was crying but being held in place by the man who was obviously in charge of this little interrogation as he spoke to Stiles, words Clint couldn't quite focus on yet. 

  "If you won't use your magic to save him, we don't need him anymore." The words had Clint going still but Stiles just shook his head, pleading. 

  "I don't have magic, I swear, please stop hurting him. I can't use magic! I've never used magic." 

  "Obviously I was mistaken. You don't really care about him." The gun was levelled in Clint's direction and he shifted, ready to move. His hands weren't zipped together anymore, the tie being cut to make it easier to resuscitate him, and that gave him full motion. "This is your last chance, Stiles. Show me your magic, or watch him bleed out." Stiles was sobbing, trying to pull away from the man holding him, trying to get to Clint, but the man held tight. "Very well." 

Clint was off before he could pull the trigger, moving for the man closest to him. He had his gun in under a minute and let off a quick succession of shots. He pointed the gun at the man holding Stiles even as the others all fell, and the man in question had once again placed the muzzle of the gun against Stiles' temple but he was watching Clint in obvious surprise. 

  "Here's how this is going to go. You're going to give Stiles back to me and I'll consider putting the bullet between your eyes instead of in the artery in your thigh." He watched the man's grip tighten on Stiles and despite the wary fear Clint could see in the man's eyes the man still smirked. 

  "I'll shoot him, then even if you kill me it won't matter."

  "If you kill him, do you really think I'll let you off with something as easy as death?"

  "Clint, it's okay." His gaze snapped to Stiles, keeping the gun level, and saw that somehow Stiles had actually _relaxed_ and Clint found it more than a little alarming. 

  "I'm getting us out of here." He said, and watched Stiles nod. The next 30 seconds seemed to pass in slow motion. The gunfire came in through the door forcing Clint to flinch for cover and the man holding Stiles took that moment to level his gun at Clint, and shoot. 

  "No!" The shout was Stiles but it wasn't, and Clint could only stare as molten gold light seemed to pour from Stiles, his eyes glowing. Behind him, almost like an apparition, Clint could see a man, a man with tousled brown hair, moles like constellations, energy snapping around him in his anger, and bright amber eyes in a familiar face, though sharper with age, that turned to him and grinned, the expression fiercely protective, and Clint could see that it was for him. The man who'd been holding Stiles was screaming, Clint realized when he focused on the room again, and Clint turned to see him clutching at his face, eyes burned out of his skull, blood dripping down his face. The bullet that had been fired was frozen in the air and Clint moved out of the way, picking up the discarded weapons before turning to Stiles. 

  "I'm okay, Stiles. We're going to be okay." He said, gaze flickering between the young version that seemed lost in the energy and the older one who was watching him with a tiny little upturn of lips but rage still in his eyes. The liquid bright eyes looked down at his smaller self and he looked sad, heartbroken almost, and he lifted his arm then and his eyes, tapping two fingers against the inside of his elbow before he inclined his head in Clint's direction and the energy slowly receded back into Stiles. The boy blinked his eyes open, only able to give a look of relief when he saw Clint was okay before he fainted. Clint was quick to catch him and he moved to where he could shoot anyone who came through the door before they could even consider lifting their weapon. He stayed there, Stiles in his lap until Bucky burst through the door, Natasha on his heels. Then he slumped back against the wall, letting Bucky lift Stiles into his arms and help him to his feet, only passing him over to Natasha when the soldier was sure he was uninjured. His thoughts drifted back to the motion the older Stiles had made, tapping against the inside of his elbow, but he knew he'd probably have to wait for their Stiles to wake to ask.

 

Stiles remained unconscious for a week, and it was probably the longest week of Clint's life. He'd hoped it would just be a sleep it off kind of thing, but after having to watch Bruce hook the boy up to IVs, he was less hopeful. He was dozing off on the bed next to Stiles, wanting to stay on hand just in case, plus hey it was his bed - though lately Natasha had been trying to force him to rest in her room to give him a break. Bucky had vetoed the idea, glaring at Natasha and curling around Clint and Stiles both and it was as surprising as it was endearing. Clint wondered when exactly him and Bucky had become a thing because now he couldn't imagine sleeping without the super soldier in the room and hell they cuddled and held hands and all that emotional shit. He wondered if it was the moment Stiles had come into their lives; had trusted them the most and brought them together, because Clint had to admit, out of everyone in the tower, he and Bucky did have the closest life experience on their worst experiences ever list. He was dozing off to the sound of Jarvis reporting on the comings and goings of everyone in the building - resident, employee, maintenance - and wondering when Bucky would be getting back with food - when he felt the movement next to him. He was instantly awake. 

  "Jarvis. Call Bruce. Stiles just moved." Even as he said the words he watched Stiles' eyes blink open, in a confused haze, and Clint couldn't help the wide grin he knew was on his face. "Hey, Stiles. You're alright. We're back at the tower. You've been asleep for a few days, okay? So you're probably confused, but you're safe." Stiles just stared at him through the whole spiel before he smiled reaching out his hand which Clint immediately took. "I've got you, Stiles."

Bruce came in the room with Bucky on his heels and Clint knew the only reason the others weren't here as well was because they were all out if the building. He couldn't help his relief that Bucky was back though, despite the fact that he didn't seem to have the promised lunch.

  "It's nice to see you awake again." Bruce greeted. "How are you feeling?" 

  "Thirsty." Stiles admitted, voice rough, and Bruce nodded, accepting the bottle of water Bucky pulled from seemingly nowhere and he brought it over to Stiles, allowing Clint to carefully sit him up before helping him take a few sips of water.

  "How's that?"

  "Better. Thank you." Bruce inclined his head before setting the bottle aside. He did a quick check up before allowing Stiles to be unhooked from the everything. The boy didn't go far, just crawled into Clint's lap, cuddling in. But he did reach out a hand to take Bruce's, the other reaching in the vague direction of Bucky who appeared immediately, taking the offered hand, his other arm curling around Clint's back so the archer could lean into him. 

  "I love you." And they knew the words were for each of them and all of them, even the ones who weren't there.

  "Feelings mutual, kid." Clint told him, and Stiles couldn't help but remember how the professor had told him almost the exact same thing. He smiled at them, but the smile grew sad. 

  "He told me what you need to make me older again. He said it was in the needles so now it's in my blood."

  "Who told you this?" Bruce asked, confused, but Clint understood. That's why the older Stiles had tapped the inside of his elbow. 

  "Older me. He talked to me. Before he left again." He cast Clint an anxious glance but the archer just gave him a small squeeze of comfort. 

  "He told me the same thing." Clint assured to the surprise of the others, but nobody denied his words, instead Stiles nodded in understanding. 

  "He said you would figure it out. He wanted to talk to you but he couldn't."

  "Why did he talk to you?" 

  "Because he said if I stayed young too long I'd never be able to get older again. He said he understood that I was scared, cause he was me, but that I shouldn't forget my friends. He said that I'm the only one who can remember some of them and that if I stay young they'll be forgotten by everyone for forever."

  "That's a lot of pressure, kid." 

  "He also said I should say goodbye to my friends if I'm not going back cause they'll miss me. He said especially Scott. I remember Scott. We're in the same class in school. But I guess not really cause he's older. Like I'm supposed to be. He said I have a lot of other friends now too and that they're looking for me." He looked up at the 3 adults around him. "It's my responsibility to protect them." He said solemnly, and though there was no doubt that those words belonged to the adult Stiles, there was no denying this Stiles' conviction.

  "Is that what you want? To be older again?"

  "Do I have to leave if I'm older again?" There was a fear now, and Clint wondered if this terror of being abandoned was something all children felt.

  "Big or small, you're one of us." Bucky said suddenly, drawing Stiles' gaze. "I don't care how old you are." His hand flexed around Stiles', as if it was now Bucky who was scared of the other leaving, but the words had clearly been the right ones because Stiles relaxed. 

  "I want to stay." He said decidedly. "But I want to be big again too."

  "I think I might know how to do that." Bruce admitted then, "But we should wait for everyone else first." Stiles agreed and so he just leaned back into Clint. 

  "Can we get spaghetti again?" He asked, wanting to repeat the first meal he'd had with them, and Bruce nodded.

  "Jarvis?" 

  "The order has already been placed Doctor Banner."

 

>>>

 

  "He promised I wouldn't forget." He whispered into Natasha's hair as he hugged her and she hugged him back just as tightly. "I'm glad." He admitted, "I wouldn't want to be older if I had to forget again." She just pulled back and combed a hand through his hair, pressing a kiss to his cheek. 

  "I'm glad too." She whispered back.

 


	11. Chapter 11

They hadn't realized that to get him back to age they had to watch him go through the years. They were supposed to spread the treatments by a couple hours, but it hurt them all to watch the boy grow up. He grew to 8 first, and they all watched his hair get short, buzzed to his head, watched the heartbreak fill his features as he sobbed for the death of his mother. They watched him lose weight, obviously not being taken care of properly, and he cried for his dad who'd lost himself in a bottle. When Stiles opened his eyes again Clint pulled him in easily, glad that Stiles would remember them each time, cause he didn't think any of them could handle making him go through this completely alone. 

  "It hurts. In my chest." Stiles cried, and Clint didn't think there was any other way to describe heartbreak. He looked at Bucky, who's hands were clenched in fists, and offered a weak smile, watching as Bucky rolled his shoulders, trying to relax despite the anger in his gaze. 

  "I know. But it won't hurt this much forever."

 

By 10, a sharper wit came out, and it was a sign to all of them that Stiles had spent some time now having to protect himself with sharp words. They heard more about Scott now. How they were best friends ever and despite Scott's asthma they still ran around a lot. Melissa came up a lot too - and it wasn't hard to deduce that she was Scott's mom but had taken on Stiles a bit too. His hair was still buzzed short but he was starting to heal.

 

At 12, Stiles was all over the place, unable to focus, and he told them with some irritation that he was seeing too many doctors and he didn't like it and it wasn't his fault that he couldn't focus on what they wanted him to focus on. He didn't care about what they were being taught - he wanted to finish learning the new coding system he'd found on his dad's computer who was now a sheriff. Clint wondered when that had happened. 

 

At 14, Stiles' hair was still buzzed short and he still didn't talk about his mom, but his dad wasn't drinking anymore and he was full of nervous energy about what high school would bring. He was still aware that it had already happened and he chattered non stop about what might have happened in high school and wondered if him and Scott were still best bros, and if Lydia ever noticed him.

 

Watching Stiles become 16 was hard. It looked like it was at 15 that everything changed and Stiles tossed and turned, shouting for Scott, for Lydia, and then they saw the injuries start appearing. The bruises, the cuts, and they all knew enough about injuries to know Stiles wasn't causing them himself. They watched a cut open on on the back of his neck and then Stiles went still, despite looking beyond terrified, and Tony was quick to move forward, checking the cut, and was surprised to see a sticky substance in the cut. He carefully took a sample before they watched the cut heal but scar. It was when Stiles was covered in bruises, his chest black and blue much like it had been when they'd found him, except this time they could see a rib was broken, could see his wrist was sprained, the marks rising on his face. His hair was still buzzed short but his face stayed resolute despite the pain. He whimpered two names, Erica and Boyd, but he didn't give in to whatever, whoever was hurting him. It looked like their Stiles had always been brave. When Stiles finally opened his eyes he looked tired, more on edge, and he told them that Scott had been bitten by a werewolf in their first year and everything had gone to hell from there. He told them about the Hales, about Isaac and Erica and Boyd, the Argents, and the Kanima and Lydia. He told them about having to lie to his dad but that he was glad he could keep his dad safe. The rage was back in Bucky's eyes and Clint understood - it wasn't Stiles' job to keep his dad safe, it was the other way around, and that was obviously not a lesson the sheriff had ever been able to enforce. They couldn't help but wonder if maybe Stiles had left out some details of his fathers behaviour after his mother had passed. It grated at them both.  

 

Though they'd though watching him turn 16 was hard, watching him age to 18 was far worse. His hair finally started growing out and it made him look older, more handsome, and he looked more sure of himself despite the collection of scars that were slowly growing in number. They'd seen him go through panic attacks, but nothing compared to how lost he looked when he was shouting for his dad, and no response came. When his skin grew ice cold to the touch and his pulse slowed to nearly non existent it was Clint who began to panic, watching his lips turn blue, and Bucky who calmed him with a touch to his shoulder, knowing exactly what he was seeing because he'd felt it before. His theory was confirmed when Stiles gasped for breath, colour coming back, his pulse returning to the slightly above average pulse, and he seemed okay. That's when the screaming started. It was Bucky who ended up moving behind him, holding him carefully but comfortingly in his arms, preventing his flailing when he grew panicked, and the panic attacks were a near constant now. His skin grew ashy and the circles under his eyes grew darker and darker. He shouted and screamed at someone to let him out, to leave his friends alone, to stop hurting people, but whoever it was didn't stop. Then Stiles went still. He was still for what seemed like forever - and the tears slipped down his face. Everything grew sharper about Stiles then. He was on edge, even in this in between state, and there was a violence held under a tight leash. He shouted in pain when a circular injury opened on his shoulder, and his hands shook as he seemed not only angry but terrified and heartbroken. This time, when Stiles opened his eyes, they had aged far more than his body had. He hadn't lost the snark, but the heartbreak was still obvious when he explained what he knew they'd seen. He explained the Alpha pack, the sacrifice and the Nogitsune. The Chimera and the Doctors. They'd lost so many now. Erica and Boyd and Allison, all gone. Isaac and Cora left. And though they made new friends, those wounds didn't close. 

 

At 20, Stiles was travelling, and the power he was cultivating was impossible to ignore. His eyes, open wide and blind to the reality in front of them, trapped in memory, glowed like molten gold that darkened to bronze though the glow grew in depth. The scars still appeared slowly but surely but there was a strength in Stiles now, a surety that had been absent when he was younger. 

 

At 24 Stiles told them that he and his pack had rebuilt the Hale house slowly while they were all in school and it was finally finished now that they were back together. He told them that they all lived at the house now, and there was a fondness to his voice when he talked about Derek that made them wonder if there was more there than Stiles was saying. They were strong now - the pack had grown in size but it had also become united. Scott was the alpha but he had Derek as his second, and together they kept things balanced. They all couldn't help but wonder what part Stiles played in all this, he wasn't a werewolf and seemed to have a role of leadership; he wasn't the alpha but even the alpha deferred to him.

 

Watching Stiles return to his current age, through the last 4 years he'd been missing, was as hard as it had been to watch in the beginning. They watched the grief overwhelm him as his father was taken from him, felt his grief as if it was their own, and they all wondered if this was a result of the magic he held, because there was a vindictiveness to the twist of Stiles' mouth and they wondered if this is how the ones who'd killed his father had felt, wondered if it had crippled them. Once again they watched the injuries appear as Stiles was tortured, and saw his vicious grin that said he wouldn't back down. Not ever. Then as suddenly as the change had happened, Stiles was gasping for breath and his eyes finally landed on the room around him. They wondered what kind of luck it was, that Stiles was retaining the injuries done to him before he'd been de-aged, because even as he looked around and was relieved, his eyes rolled back into his head and he fell unconscious.

 

>>>

 

Stiles opened his eyes to a familiar setting. He could remember everything that had happened as his immediate past, having been aware but pushed back behind his younger self, and that meant he couldn't shake just how much all these dangerous heroes meant to him. And the affection he felt for Clint and Bucky - that was slightly less innocent as an adult. He wondered what kind of luck that was - that as an adult he felt something because of how he'd been treated as a child. Morell would have had a field day with that. He closed his eyes again, wishing he could avoid everything for a while - just go back to sleep and remain blissfully unaware for a bit longer, but he knew he couldn't do that. He had to open his eyes, get up, and find his pack. He winced at the thought of them. They were probably worried sick - he'd been missing for months and even though he knew he had to, he didn't want to go back. He wanted to stay. These people, they'd protected him, and loved him, and now he loved them too. The worst part was, he knew the pack would understand - knew they'd want him to be wherever he was happiest as long as he was safe. He felt his spark whisper along his skin, offering soft comfort, and he called back to it, glad he could feel and control it properly again. He was glad for the comfort holding that much power gave him. He knew that these people wouldn't want him to leave - that Bucky and Clint would fight the hardest to keep him here but that the others would fight it as well - and knew he had to leave before they got the chance, because if they did he'd never go back, and he needed to. This time, when he opened his eyes, he grasped his spark, his eyes glowing in response, and focused on the image of the Hale house. Then he let his spark take him there.

 

>>>

 

  "Stiles has disappeared in a form of energy seemingly of his own volition." The words had both Clint and Bucky on their feet, and Natasha put a hand on Clint's arm even while Tony turned to tap against the table, the computer system popping up to show a video of Stiles in the bedroom, eyes opening, and there was a heartbroken look to them before his eyes glowed like molten gold and he disappeared in an energy of the same colour. 

  "Where could he have gone?" Steve asked, but Bruce, Bucky, and Clint just exchanged glances. They knew. He'd gone back to Beacon Hills. 

 

>>>

 

Stiles felt dizzy even as he felt the familiar energy that ran through the Hale land - pack land. He was on his hands and knees but he didn't miss the sound of the door opening somewhere in front of him, and heard the shout in Lydia's voice that said he was there. She always had been more aware of his spark than the others. Her and Scott. Even as he had the thought, familiar tanned hands were helping him up and he came face to face with Scott who looked both relieved and worried at the same time. The contradiction made Stiles laugh and then they were hugging and oh - he'd missed his best friend. Scott let go despite Stiles' noise of disappointment, but then the others were there and he couldn't help but laugh again as they piled in around him, and then before he could help himself the tears started. He felt him before he saw him and turned his gaze towards the forest, towards the black wolf padding out from between the trees. 

  "You were in New York." He managed, and the wolf turned into a man, turned into Derek, and he hadn't even noticed the others had stepped back until Derek was hugging him. 

  "You were scared of me, so I came back. I knew you'd come home." The words had Stiles stepping back and he looked over as Lydia took his hand, squeezing. He could see in her eyes that she understood what the others hadn't even realized yet. Then, all at once, he remembered, and he hated himself for forgetting. 

  "Dad-" and the syllable was choked off even as Lydia squeezed his hand tighter and Scott grasped his shoulder, tugging him back towards the house. 

 


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> aaaand this is it. the final chapter. incidentally it's also the only one with a fully adult Stiles all the way through. anyways, this was super fun to write, and it's been really amazing reading all of your comments and feedback. i hope you all enjoy this ending!

Clint strolled down the main street of Beacon Hills and couldn't help but wonder what it would have been like to grow up in a town like this. They'd decided that he should confront Stiles alone because the only other person who would need to be there was Bucky but the arm was a bit conspicuous and if there were werewolves around they didn't want to be picking an unnecessary fight. But he and the others were here, waiting at a safe house for Clint to give the go ahead. None of them were amused that Stiles had just left either. He knew where Stiles was - Tony had found his cellphone that had been left with his friends and off until Stiles had turned it back on upon his return. It said that Stiles was at his house, the one he'd grown up in, and that's where Clint was headed. He got there and found a blue jeep parked on the curb out front and he knew from Tony's digging that it belonged to Stiles. 

He heard the front door get tugged open behind him and so turned, leaning back against the jeep to see Stiles come out, not noticing him as he pulled the door shut and locked it, sliding the keys in his pocket even as he wiped tears from his eyes. The sight had an ache forming in Clint's chest, and despite the fact that Stiles was no longer tiny nor did he need Clint's protection, he still wanted to wrap the younger man in his arms and keep him safe. 

  "You didn't say goodbye." He said, unable to keep silent any longer, and watched Stiles head shoot up, and there was no missing the surprise or the warm affection that filled Stiles' gaze. 

  "What are you doing here?" He finally asked, wiping the last tears away, but there was no embarrassment about the emotion and it surprised Clint. Few people were so comfortable showing weakness. Then he corrected himself. Few people didn't consider emotions weakness. Before Clint could answer, Stiles was speaking again. "I didn't think you guys would notice I was gone so quickly." Stiles admitted, and there was a self-deprecation to the tone that said even adult Stiles was still afraid he wouldn't belong anymore now that he wasn't young. 

  "Jarvis told us the second you disappeared. I left as soon as he told us." The affection warmed and Clint didn't know how he felt about how badly he wanted to just reach out. 

  "I didn't want you to convince me to stay." Stiles admitted. "I had to come back, I had to let them know I was okay and that's something I had to do in person." 

  "Stiles." Clint whipped around at the growled word and found himself facing a man probably only just older than Stiles with broad shoulders, dark hair, and that scruff that was somehow sexy despite how ridiculous it was to find something like facial hair sexy. But Clint had seen how the man's eyes had flashed blue and his gun was out before he'd even fully turned. 

  "Derek, stop. This is Clint." And then Stiles was there, right beside him, hand on the arm holding up the gun. "Derek's just feeling a bit over protective. He's not going to hurt either of us." Clint lowered his weapon at Stiles' touch, he remembered what Stiles had said about Derek as he'd aged, but that didn't make him feel any better about the glare the werewolf was levelling in his direction. Stiles didn't move out of his space though, hadn't removed his hand from Clint's arm, and the archer wasn't sure why he found that so comforting. 

  "Derek. Stop. It's fine." Derek's eyes narrowed and Clint's hand tightened on his gun which Derek didn't miss, earning a snarl. Clint felt Stiles' grip tighten and glanced over to see his eyes flash with the bright energy. "Scott." He called softly, but the name seemed to echo. Moments later, a shape was leaping down from a roof across the street and Clint realized this was another werewolf, and the way his eyes flashed red, Clint guessed this was the alpha. The one Clint assumed was Scott took in the situation with a frown, purposely stepping in between Derek and them. 

  "What's going on?" 

  "Your second's decided he doesn't like me much."

  "You brought a gun to Stiles' house." Scott pointed out, though not accusingly. "And you smell like gunpowder and violence." 

  "Violence has a smell?" Stiles smirked at the words which earned a responding fond smile from Scott.

  "You're dangerous. I'm sure you can understand why letting someone as dangerous as you near Stiles without knowing who you are would be difficult for us." Clint conceded by sliding his gun away and Scott smiled gratefully, coming forward then and offering his hand. "Clint, right? I'm Scott, by the way. It's nice to meet you. We've already heard a lot of good things." The words surprised him and he glanced at Stiles to see him blushing faintly. Stiles finally stepped back, rubbing his hand over the back of his neck and Clint missed the warmth of his hand the moment it was gone. 

  "Right, okay, well I mean, I think we've covered that there are no threats here so everyone can just chill." The words had Derek finally relaxing, rolling his eyes. 

  "As if you could ever be chill." Stiles just shot the older werewolf a look, but there was no heat behind it, and Clint couldn't help but wonder, somewhat anxiously, if Stiles would want to come back now that he was home again. Then Stiles was looking at him again and that fond amusement was there in his eyes even as he smiled. 

  "So where are the others hiding anyways? There's no way they let you come alone." 

 

>>>

 

Clint followed Stiles into the house the others were hiding in, Scott on his heels though the alpha had convinced Derek to stay behind. Clint was a little surprised but more relieved that the first thing Stiles did was walk right up to Bucky and hug him tightly. Bucky's arms came up immediately in response and they could all hear Stiles' murmured apology. He moved to Natasha next, not even hesitating, and Clint just knew she was relieved by the action. He moved to the rest after, and he'd done it in the right order, but Clint couldn't help that ache from coming back. He wanted Stiles to be hugging _him_. Then Stiles was turning back, grinning at Scott despite the tears in his eyes. 

  "Scott, these are the Avengers." Scott's responding grin was sunshine bright and just as warm. 

  "Only you, Stiles." Then he turned his attention to the others. "I'm Scott, alpha of the Hale-McCaul territory." 

  "I'm not even remotely surprised that your best friend is an alpha." Tony all but whined, and Stiles threw him an impish grin. 

  "He's more than that, he's a true alpha. All that moral righteousness and shit."

  "Language." Steve said before he could catch himself and Stiles burst out laughing. 

  "Sorry, Steve. I should have warned you, adult me has a foul mouth."

  "As if Steve can talk. Shoulda heard him when we were in the army." Bucky added, and Stiles couldn't keep the smile from his face. He looked at Scott who was smiling back at him, but it was a sad smile, and he knew then that Scott had figured out what Lydia had. 

  "Come on. You should meet the rest of the pack." Scott said, reaching for Stiles, and Stiles moved into the touch, Scott guiding him with a hand on his back, fingertips brushing against his hip with a casual comfort that spoke of an intimacy they hadn't expected. 

Clint didn't realize how tense this was all making him until Bucky's fingers were tangling with his and he looked over at him to see understanding. Stiles had been just theirs for so long now - it was hard to share that with people who'd known him even longer. Clint couldn't help but wonder if Bucky felt the same curl of jealousy in his gut at how comfortable Stiles was with the intimate nature of Scott's touch. 

 

>>>

 

  "Stop it." Stiles looked over at Lydia who'd found him hiding in the doorway while the pack and his heroes mingled, and rolled his eyes. 

  "I'm not doing anything." Now it was her turn to roll her eyes and she moved closer, tucking herself into his side, sliding her arms around his waist. 

  "You're beating yourself up about all of this. I'm not mad, neither is Scott." 

  "Yeah but what about Derek?" 

  "Derek can handle himself." The words had Stiles huffing out a laugh. 

  "Now that I know isn't true." She tilted a smile in his direction, but it was as warm as it was amused. 

  "You know better. What are you really upset about?" He stayed silent a moment but Lydia was patient, and the fact that they knew each other so well had his chest aching. 

  "Does leaving mean I'm abandoning everything we fought for? Forgetting everything we've gone through?" He met Lydia's gaze and she was reminded of just how much grief Stiles was hiding. 

  "You're not abandoning us. You're pack. No matter how far you go. You just have a bigger family now." He laughed and there were tears in his eyes again as he pressed a kiss to Lydia's temple.

  "You always know what to say." Her smile grew wicked as she shifted so she could whisper in his ear. 

  "Don't think I haven't noticed the longing looks the archer is giving you. And the soldier. They're just itching to be near you." Her words had Stiles' cheeks going red but before he could escape, Scott was there on his other side, wide grin on his features. 

  "I like them." Scott said, having moved right into Stiles' other side to keep the conversation private. "And they clearly like you." 

  "What, are we back in high school now?" Stiles grumbled, cheeks still bright red. "Clint's the one who saved me." Stiles reminded them. "I was lost and scared and alone and he didn't even think twice about helping me. And Bucky - he protected me from everything. Even if it was just needing space from everyone else. They took care of me. Don't make that creepy." Scott just grinned at him, that dopey uneven grin he'd carried through the years.

  "You're being obtuse." Stiles snorted from the reminder of Scott's word-a-day days. "You're back to being you again. And they've noticed." Stiles realized then what the two of them had done even as Scott's hand slid along the back of his shoulders, the other hand resting above Lydia's arm that was wrapped around his waist from the front. They'd made quite the sensual image of the three of them, what with the casual embraces and the intimacy they'd creates by speaking right into his ears. He realized all of the avengers would have noticed by now and he was actually surprised none of them had said anything. Though he supposed since he'd returned both their touches there wasn't much they could say. Before he could speak, or move away, Lydia was speaking again. 

  "Neither of them understand it yet. They're just getting used to each other and they just wants to be near you - but it can go that way, if you want it to." Her eyes cut away from him and back, the smirk growing. "Well, your archer doesn't know. Your soldier may have an idea." Stiles just huffed out another breath. Leave it to these two. 

"Do you want it to?" Scott asked, and Stiles looked away from the two with him then, over at the others and found Clint easily. Their gazes met and he sighed, finding Bucky's gaze over his shoulder. And from the knowing look in his gaze, he had a pretty good idea of what they were talking about. God he was so screwed. 

  "Yeah, I think I might." 

 

>>>

 

Clint was outside the Hale house, sitting on the roof above the porch, when the wolf from before, Derek, found him. 

  "Nice place you got." Clint said to break the silence, and Derek gave a hum. 

  "That tower wasn't so bad either." Clint shrugged, trying to roll away the tension but not succeeding. They sat in silence for a minute before Derek spoke again.

  "He isn't going to stay with us." Clint tensed but didn't look over and so Derek continued. "The three of them have been like that almost since the beginning. Scott and Stiles have always been tactile, but after the nemeton - the Nogitsune-" and the both winced at the reminder of the demon, "Lydia attached herself to Stiles then, and Stiles had always fought viciously to protect her. The three of them - the three of them are terrifying." Derek admitted, and his voice had softened to the point that Clint had to look over, had to be able to see the wolf's mouth so he didn't miss anything. "Stiles and Lydia - they needed Scott to keep them in the light. They were both used against their will and it made them angry, and it was an ugly anger. Scott held them back. And then when it got too much for Scott, they returned the favour." Derek's eyes looked haunted now. "Stiles used to wake up screaming. He used to scream until his voice was raw. The only thing that could stop it was the two of them being there while he slept." Derek's eyes focused again and he smirked at Clint, but it was sad. "I know you want to ask, and the answer is yes, Stiles and I dated." Clint didn't miss the use of the past tense. "For a couple years, but as much as we wanted it to be, it just wasn't quite right. We were both kind of relieved when we ended things." The smirk became more mocking when Derek noticed Clint's shock but his words were still open and honest. "He isn't going to stay with us." He repeated. "He came back to say goodbye." Then Derek was leaping off the roof and leaving Clint to his thoughts. 

 

>>>

 

  "They know something we don't." Stiles didn't react as the super soldier came up behind him in the kitchen, leaning against the counter next to where he was stirring what could actually be called a vat of pasta sauce. 

  "Which they are we talking about?" Stiles asked, and Bucky shot him a look. 

  "The alpha, and Lydia." Stiles wondered what it meant that Bucky called Lydia by her name but not Scott and he shrugged. 

  "I'm used to it. Lydia hears the dead, she always knows something we don't." Bucky didn't reply right away but Stiles just continued on as he was. He knew the other would speak eventually.

  "They're sad." Stiles tensed at the words and then Bucky was closer, hand on his shoulder. He relaxed marginally at the contact but it didn't make him feel any less guilty. "And you look guilty. That's why you're hiding in here." Stiles' shoulders sagged and he finally stopped stirring the pot, looking at Bucky, and Bucky couldn't help his relief at what he saw - he saw Stiles, their Stiles, but he also saw the same need for comfort the younger version had needed. He didn't hesitate then to pull Stiles in, and he knew he'd made the right choice when Stiles all but sagged against him. 

  "She knew." Stiles breathed, but Bucky heard him clearly. "She saw me and she knew I wasn't ever planning to stay. She knew before I did. And they're okay with it." And though he was clearly relieved, Bucky could hear the hurt. 

  "You think they want you to leave." Bucky surmised, and then he chuckled. He remembered this insecurity.

  "It's not funny." Stiles grumbled, but rather than pull away he actually seemed to hold tighter. This was definitely still their Stiles.

  "Ever think maybe they aren't telling you they want you to stay so it'll be easier for you?"  

  "That's exactly what they're doing. Assholes." 

  "Watch it, Steve's going to be getting the soap out if you keep it up." That earned a snicker. 

  "Did you forget that I have magical powers? I could totally get out of that." Bucky chuckled again, giving one last squeeze before letting him go, but he didn't pull away, hand resting at the base of Stiles’ neck, and Stiles was reminded of Lydia's earlier words. 

  "Have you talked to Clint yet?" That earned Bucky a frown and he watched Stiles run a hand through his hair, tugging a bit on it anxiously. 

  "Not yet. He's hiding on purpose." 

  "He thinks you're going to stay." That had Stiles blinking in surprise. 

  "Really?"

  "You looked real cozy with Lydia and the alpha." Stiles just rolled his eyes.

  "Don't even get me started. Assholes." And with that he turned to leave the room, feeling a tingle run through him when Bucky’s hand slipped from his skin. Right before he could leave though he turned back to offer Bucky a warm smile. "Thanks."

 

>>>

 

Stiles needed to say goodbye to the forest. He'd spent so much time in there – spent so much energy – and now their tunes were harmonic. He'd miss this forest. He closed his eyes, taking a deep breath, and felt the moment someone else was there with him; knew exactly who it was. 

“I thought you were avoiding me.” 

“Why would you think that?”

“You've been hiding outside.” Stiles opened his eyes again and turned to face Clint. 

“Derek talked to me.” Clint admitted, hands in his pockets as he wandered forward. He watched Stiles' expression tighten, looking guarded, scared. It was a shock to realize Stiles was afraid of what he might say. For some reason, that gave him confidence. 

“Funny, I thought he was avoiding me too.”

“He wanted to tell me about Lydia and Scott.” It had Stiles' shoulders slumping. 

“Look, they're my best friends – we've been through a lot together -” Stiles began, but he broke off at Clint's smirk. “Derek told you.”

“Told me you two dated too.”

“We did. For a couple of years. He's with Braedon now. She came back. Decided to settle down.” Stiles' smile was fond. “More or less.” Clint finally reached where Stiles was standing and Stiles realized how close they were standing. He could almost feel the energy between them, crackling like electricity. He couldn't help but wonder if that was why Clint needed Bucky - why maybe he did too - to diffuse that restless energy. “What else did Derek tell you?”

“That the only reason you came back was to say goodbye.” That came as a surprise to Stiles, his eyes widening. 

“Derek said that? What a jerk. I was supposed to tell him, he wasn't supposed to already know.” the words were relieving, and they brought a smile to Clint's face. 

“How long do you need?” Stiles just stared a moment and then the tears welled in his eyes. Clint reached out in alarm and before he'd even realized what Stiles was doing, the younger man had thrown his arms around Clint and was hugging him tightly. Clint could only return the embrace. “Stiles, what's wrong?”

“I thought you'd changed your mind.” Stiles said honestly. “I thought you might’ve changed your mind and wanted me to stay here.” Clint couldn't help but tighten his hold on the younger man.

“I don't want you to stay here.” and he realized this was the first time he'd held Stiles since he'd become an adult. It felt different, but he didn't want to let go.

“I wanted to thank you.” Stiles said, though he didn't move away. “For saving me. I – I can't really tell you how much it means to me.” Clint didn't know how to respond so he just gave a squeeze to show he'd heard. 

"I'd do it all again." Clint finally managed. Stiles laughed and it was a teary sound.

"Me too." Then Stiles was pulling back, but the energy was still there, still humming along his skin. He shrugged it off, stepping away from Clint and reaching out his arms, sinking his energy into the earth around him. When he opened his eyes, Clint was still there, but there was awe in his gaze now, and Stiles knew what the archer was seeing - knew his eyes were coloured bronze, energy flickering in his irises. Then he pulled the energy back in, pulled it back within his own body, and felt the tug of the earth - of the Hale land realizing what he meant to do. He wondered if the others would understand just how sentient the land was but shook his head. It wasn't his place to explain. They would either feel it or they wouldn't. The trees groaned around the clearing, the breeze coming to caress his skin in goodbye, and when it finally settled, Stiles dropped his arms, opening his eyes again. Clint looked was looking around at the clearing, gaze sharp, and when he met Stiles' gaze again there was a question. 

"It feels… sentient." He finally settled on, and Stiles couldn't help but blink. Nor could he help the dopey smile that spread across his face. Of course Clint noticed. No wonder he felt so strongly bound to these two men. 

"It is."

"And it's-" he hesitated, looking around again. "Sad?" Stiles shrugged.

"Yeah. I've been in tune with the energy here for over a decade. Probably for my whole life, but I’ve only been about to hear and communicate with it for the last few years. So in a way we're the same. And it's hard to leave a part of yourself behind, or let a part of yourself go." And he made sure to smile now, so Clint would know it was okay. "But that's life. You have to move forward or nothing ever changes." Stiles took a leap of faith then, stepping forward and offering his hand. "I'm good to leave tomorrow. I've got to officially announce that I'm leaving and then everyone's gonna want to have one last puppy pile before I ship out plus we wouldn't want to miss breakfast because I make the best waffles ever and I saw all the ingredients in the kitchen earlier. But after that? We could go back?” He realized he was rambling, wondering if Clint would take his hand or not, wondering if maybe he'd misread this, but then Clint took his hand, linking their fingers together with a smirk.

"How could I say no to free waffles?" And Stiles let out a laugh, releasing the breath with it he hadn't realized he'd been holding. When they left the trees and found themselves back on the Hale lawn, Bucky was out front waiting for them and Stiles felt that tightness in his chest again, that possibility of rejecting. Instead Bucky just came towards them, smirk of his own in place.

"So this is how it's gonna be?" And he found Clint letting go of his hand to curl an arm around his waist, standing behind Stiles to hook his chin over his shoulder. He could all but feel the archer grinning and Stiles couldn't help but flush bright red again. Bucky's grin was lightning fast and just as mischievous and he reached out a hand, curling it around the back of Stiles' neck, other hand resting on Clint's arm at his waist. 

"You never pick the easy road, do you?" And now Stiles couldn't help but grin as well.

"What's the fun in that?"

"Stop flirting and come inside. We're not in high school anymore, Stiles." Came Scott's shout, and Stiles made a sound of disbelief, pulling away so he could glare at where his best friend stood in the doorway. Much to both Clint and Bucky's delight, the grin that then took over Stiles' expression was devilish.

"Oh, you're so on, Scotty my man. I'm going to make you regret every single time you made heart eyes." And that earned him a surprised chuckle from Bucky, a wink from Clint. The archer immediately moved to wrap his arm around Bucky, hand dangerously low on his hip, and then he gave Stiles a lazy once over. 

"Come on, babe," he drawled, and Stiles could already see Scott going pale as Clint made a come hither motion with his free hand. "We gotta say goodbye before we can drag you back home with us." It took every ounce of self control for Stiles not to laugh at the scandalized look on Scott's face as Stiles tucked himself against Clint's side and Scott fled inside. That's when Stiles finally let himself laugh, the other two joining him. He lifted his head from Clint's shoulder, finally just looking at the other two. Bucky was right, it would be hard. He'd been 5 years old for months, for one, and not to mention the fact that despite all their joking, he was fairly certain none of them were prepared to take any steps in the direction they'd been teasing Scott with. But it could still be his, he realized, just like Lydia had said. If he really wanted it to be. 

"Let's start saying our goodbyes." Stiles said decidedly, finally feeling settled again in his own skin. "Then let's go home."


End file.
